


Swallow Your Soul

by skyfallat221b



Series: Swallow Your Soul-Verse [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Ultimates, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bleeding, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Carson's Circus of Travelling Wonders, Circus of Crime - Freeform, F/M, Infinity Gems, Major character death - Freeform, NaNoWriMo, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Captain America: Civil War, Pre-Civil War (Marvel), Semi!Retired Clint, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 114,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5149799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyfallat221b/pseuds/skyfallat221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a ghost from Clint Barton's past seemingly disappears, the New Avengers are quick to realize that it means something's up. What they don't realize, is that it all comes back to Hawkeye, and his circus past. What are they going to do when the threat they discover suddenly puts Clint and all he stands for in danger? And, what happens when a hooded figure wearing black and yellow shows up for blood?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pledge - Phase I

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 2015 NaNoWriMo. I will be updating this weekly (maybe more often, at the rate I've been writing this in). I hope you all enjoy it. Come nudge at me on tumblr, where I'm [spectralarchers](http://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/). Enjoy!

If there was something that Sam didn't like, it was getting news through his Twitter feed. Especially news like this one.

So when he leaves his room to go out and let the others know, he is already in a grumpy mood. Shouldn't Friday, the new AI that Tony Stark equipped them with,  have let them know about this? It sort of falls under the category of important things. Or so he thinks. Maybe he's just being paranoid. However, as soon as he leaves the room, he is met by Steve and Natasha discussing just this.

** MONACO BASED CRIME BOSS DISAPPEARS FROM HOME **

_The Monaco based crime boss Jean Louis Petit disappeared from his home late last night. Authorities have also reported that his the savings and several fund holdings have been retrieved to an account abroad._

_Read more at<http://cnn.com/2015/10/28/europe/monaco-crime-boss-disappears/index.html>_

Anyone who didn't have the information to understand the gravity of the situation would probably believe it to be a benign story. (Well, benign was a little word for a disappearance. Most people took billionaire crime boss’ disappearances as them going to Siberia to live out their lives, or the going to some Island far out). In this case, however, the disappearance of the French-Monegasque fallen business man meant one thing.

“How do you even know this?” Steve’s voice breaks through, as Sam comes into the office. It was their tactical room, where they organized missions when they needed it.

“Clint told me. He phoned as soon as he heard this morning, if this Petit guy is missing, it means that there's something happening with the underground networks and it's not good.”

Natasha sounds a bit rattled - which is never good. She sounded like this after Banner abandoned them, for a long time. If she sounds like this now, it is absolutely no good. The fact that Clint is grounded at the farm because of Laura going down with mononucleosis after birth is one of the reasons Natasha is on edge all the time. (Clint won't leave to come and help them for as long as Laura is down. They've got a newborn baby to take care of, and Sam knows the archer well enough to know that leaving his sick wife with three kids and a farm to run isn't something he's willing to do. Not even if the world is ending.)

So, naturally, Sam feels on edge too. “What does he know about this Petite guy?”

“It's Petit. Jean Louis Petit is a former associate of Jacques Duquesne, who is one of Clint's old mentors from his time in the circus. He gained a fortune off embezzlement and by stealing funds from circuses in the European Tour. He's got links to the Berdino family too.” She pauses as she put down the file that she's apparently managed to either find or put together (probably both, in her case).

“He was on watch by the French DGSE for the embezzlement, and for being in contact with several other networks, including the Syndicate and the one known as Spectre. He's also had ties with Hydra. They've called him the former Banker of Networks. A bit like his good friend, Sergei Pougachev.”

“Who just so happens to be known as the former Banker for the Kremlin, and whose 15 billion dollar fortune was frozen in 2014 after he was put on Interpol’s most wanted list,” Steve adds with a face and Sam knows it means that this is a big problem.

“These two guys worked closely in partnership in Monaco, using both the Casinos and the Hédiard shop owned by Pougachev to filter it through. When Interpol sent out the arrest order, Petit took over most of the shares and the business. Duquesne has been working his way up their ranks as a fellow link to the United States and Asia.”

“So, Petit gone means…?”

“It means that someone just took all his money and is probably planning something not good. In a not good for us way.”

The pause that follows makes Sam uneasy. Vision is gone to the other side of a realm, following Thor the last time the Bifrost opened because Thor needed him and the Mindstone to settle something with a fourth stone having popped up somewhere far away.

Sam is a bit lost on this, honestly. “So, what do we do?”

“We get the computers running, we try and gather information and intelligence, ” Steve starts, and Sam notices he goes into full mission mode.

“Natasha, you go through all of SHIELD’s salvaged data to try and figure out any sort of clue as to where that money went, Sam you get on line with War Machine and get to Monaco to investigate and help the French secret service if you can.”

“What about you, Cap?”

“I'll stay here, try and finish Wanda’s training sessions for the week. Then from there, we'll go out and talk to Barton. He's our link to these guys, and I don't think discussing any of these issues without him is a good idea. He knows this entire world better than we ever would.”

Natasha nods, as she settles against the table, pulling the file on Petit back. She holds up the picture of him before she speaks again. “Want me to send the data I've got so far on him to your devices?” A single nod from each of them is enough to get her going. It's been awhile since something big happened, and Steve seems annoyed. They'd been so close to a breakthrough with the Winter Soldier, but the trail had gone cold up north, near the border to Canada.

“When’s Rhodes supposed to be back from his mission?”

“Three hours. You've got four to get on your way to France. You know how to pilot the jet?” Steve asks, and Sam nods. Tony had given him a quick guide through to the basic features the jet had, but Clint had taught him the more important things - having been in the army himself, Clint knew that Sam was far more intuitive about flying than Tony thought. (And, Clint respected that more than Tony did).

“You and Rhodes are military, act like it. Don't fuck it up like Stark did last time he was there, the Monegasques and French authorities weren't impressed.” Steve doesn't have to add the ‘especially after Hammer broke Vanko out of a high security prison’.

It takes three and a half hours before they're outbound. Rhodes got the message in-flight on his way back from Salt Lake City, and he'd been ready almost as soon as he'd landed.

Natasha goes out to the security storage room, safely saved from the Helicarrier’s database and retrieved from the erased hard-drives from HYDRA they retrieved from Strucker’s base.

Steve reaches out to the red headed witch who has been practicing her trade on her own.

* * *

It takes Natasha some hours to compile  a list of what she can find on Petit, Pougachev and Duquesne. She goes through all the databases she can find -  Homeland, FBI, CIA, and she even manages to get a contact in Paris’ DGSE head offices in Tourelles to give her information on the two Frenchmen involved.

When she looks back at the file she's compiled on them, she can't help but notice that they've got common interests in villages near Nice, Monaco and Toulon in the South of France. She pulls a face when she thinks of the little mafia like bosses that roam those streets, with their larger than life silver bracelets and their silly BMWs.

She remembers back to her mission with Stark in Monaco and the mess that Vanko pulled there. Christine Everhart and Justin Hammer being there too didn't help. (But then, she also remembers the times where she went shopping with Pepper in the mall, spending some of Stark’s money on expensive clothes that she'd wear herself or give to Laura. Especially the lingerie.)

She sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose and looks at her notes. They're smudged, her handwriting uneven in the rush of writing down the information. Her French was a bit rusty when she spoke with the internal communications officer with the French secret services, but she understood most of it.

Compared to the contact she'd had with the Danish FE, based out of Kastellet in Copenhagen, she always wondered why the French insisted on speaking their own language. It was a lot easier to speak in English when it came to international collaboration, but not in this case. For one, she understood that they wanted to deal with this themselves -  Petit was a French and Monegasque citizen, so they already had to do some small partnership with Monaco. But, Natasha knows that it's also payback from the mess they made in Monaco with Stark and Vanko. (The French don't forgive, and they don't forget, Clint had told her once, when speaking about the dangers Duquesne represented. Now she understood better).

The Berdino family had gone out of their links with the underground circus networks thirty years ago, and the Danish secret service didn't have many things to give her about Petit as the records were all old. She admired how the tiny country of barely 6 million inhabitants had managed to keep their traditions anchored and turned their circus pride into a national pride. (She received the files on the young circus Prince Patrick too, but he'd just joined their version of Dancing with the Stars, and she dismissed him as any risk more or less because of that).

So there was nothing to fetch there, and it made her wonder. There were no clues as to who had taken Petit, nor where they had taken him. So, she pulls her phone up and logs on the encryption before calling the Barton landline. She knows their daily schedule by heart now, and she knows Clint is out getting the kids from their respective schools after he's been grocery shopping. So it's just Laura and Nathaniel at home.

The phone rings three times before Laura picks it up. There's a distorted noise that sounds strangely like a baby gurgling and giggling at the same time before Laura speaks. “This is Laura,” she says and Natasha smiles into the phone.

“Hey, Laura, it's Nat. Am I calling at a bad time?” Maybe they'd been napping, and she woke them both. (She'd heard from Clint first hand that Nathaniel was a heavy crier and that he was a very affectionate baby who requested to be held as much as possible.)

“No, no, I was just getting ready to feed Nate.” Laura couldn't breast feed him, because of her being sick. She had to prepare powdered milk, and she'd talked to Natasha about how hard she felt it was both for her and the baby. That link that came with breastfeeding she'd said… That was the thing that she was missing most of all.

“Right. How is the little potato?”

“He's doing good. Getting stronger. But still hasn't sleep an entire night through, which is making us very tired.”

It was something they didn't talk about. They all knew that there was a difference between Nathaniel and the two others, because he'd been born with a little birthmark on his chest, mirroring his father's burn scar from the scepter. They had asked Thor for his opinion, as had they Vision, but both had assured that there would be no risks for the child. Laura still feels uncomfortable with the thought, and Natasha knows that Clint’s prolonged paternity leave is also to keep an eye on the kid. To make absolutely sure everything is fine. And she doesn't blame him. (Even all these years later, Loki is still a nightly occurrence for Clint, who's learnt to live with his nightmares and his night terrors. It's just no fun with a toddler and a sick wife).

“I'm actually calling, Clint probably told you-”

“Yeah, about what happened in Monaco?” Laura interrupt, and Natasha nods into the phone.

“Yeah, about that. Petit is gone, his money's gone, and I'm not sure I have any other clues to go on. You grew up in the circus too, right, is there anything that Clint hasn't told me I need to know?” Natasha asks. This might lead to something deeper - when a banker for the underworld goes missing, a horrific shit storm usually follows. There's different ways that this could go wrong from here, she knows: the loud, sudden appearance of villains, or the quiet winds of change suddenly turning to their disadvantage.

It takes Laura some seconds before she allows herself to reply. “He was in it with Carson. Remember the jobs that Clint did with Chisholm? He told you about them. Half the money and goods they got went to Petit, through Duquesne. There was this unspoken rule, that we never robbed just for ourselves. Barney thought it was a dickhead move until he met the bigger forces that drove us all.”

There's a pause, and Natasha relies on it to write information down on her already filled note papers.

“When we got word that even Tiboldt was working with Petit, we understood there was something bigger than ourselves going on,” she sighs, and Natasha can hear Nathaniel grumbling happily at something. The kid has only learnt very basic words (if you can even call it that), but he's learnt to make a very annoying high pitched ‘huh?’ sound when asked a question he doesn't want to answer. (Whenever they're on Skype with Clint and Nathaniel does it, she can hear Clint sigh.)

However, when Laura speaks again, Natasha is paying more attention than she has before. The click pen she's been using to write sits quietly against the paper, ready to go to work again. “When we left the world of the circus, we left it all behind. I don't think we'll be of any more help here, Nat. Clint's probably told you everything he knows by now, I'm sorry.”

A high pitched noise, definitely not a happy one, coming from Nathaniel lets Natasha know that the conversation is over.

“Thanks for your help, Laura. I'll call you guys soon again, when Clint's back home with the kids. Say hi to them from me,” and she hears Laura reply as Nathaniel's wailing rise to a new level. He's definitely bumped into something, Natasha thinks as the dial tone hits her ear.

Well, that didn't help. At all. However, she chooses to debrief with Steve as soon as he finishes his training session with Wanda.

* * *

“So, sending Sam and Rhodes to Monaco was a good call, Cap,” Natasha informs as soon as both he and Wanda walk into her office. They're dressed in casual dress -  as much as Steve will ever do is a tight fitting thermal shirt. When on location he likes to be ready to go on a short moment's notice should something arise. She understands the feeling. Wanda is wearing a black dress that Natasha recognizes from some of the surveillance pictures they gathered from Sokovia.

“It's all connected to the circus.”

Steve’s head jerks up at this. “Barton told you?”

“Actually, Laura. It goes way back, Petit, Duquesne, it all comes back to the underground circus network from when him and Laura were there.” She points the notes that she has taken the time to type up on her laptop for them. Opening the file, Steve frowns.

“Why is Monaco important, then?”

“Because of the 40th Festival International du Cirque. It's the annual award show for circus performers, where they give prizes to individual acts and circuses from the world. It's going down in three days’ time, and I suspect that Petit was going to meet with some people there.”

She points to the program for the ten days that she's printed out. “The 20th in the day they give out awards. It's a gala show, where all the big guys are every year - Beneweiss, Berdino, Bartabas, the Cirque du Soleil, the Swamp circus, even the Chinese. The Tabares and their Varga circus are going there too. We've even got the merged Carson’s Circus of Travelling Wonders and Circus of Crime baby, Circus of Wonders.”

Natasha watches Wanda from the side, as the girl reaches for the papers. “There's no way we can get Barton on board this mission?” Steve asks, as he goes through the pages. “It should be right down his book.”

Natasha shakes her head. “We're on our own, Laura is still too sick to get by on her own. Closest we can get from him, is Intel and Skype. I spoke to him earlier,” she says as she gazes at Wanda, “and he said we can send him data and he won't mind being in our ears if we decide to go on a mission, but he won't come out.”

She also knows that it's because there's too much danger involved -  Clint knows these circus artists and con men, and they know him. If any of them were to recognize him - which they probably have from the Avengers press that's been picking up regular speed recently, what with the whispers of a Registration act - he'd be the first target. Natasha knows that him and Laura basically betrayed Carson and Tiboldt when they left the circus world to join SHIELD.

“I'll get Sam and Rhodes on the line, ask Stark if he can secure some tickets to the Gala evening. He should be able to make that work. Make it low profile. Wanda, you're to go there with Natasha and assist her in the audience, trying to find any clues.” Steve points at the different mug shots they've set up on a wall behind them. Tiboldt, Carson, Carson’s daughter, Petit, Duquesne, even Chisholm is up there. This is right up Clint's past, and Natasha can feel that Steve is frustrated that Clint can't come out.

But that had been the deal. Clint doesn't leave Laura, no matter what happens, except if it's an immediate threat. So far, it's ‘just’ a banker gone missing. But just like it happened when that Le Chiffre died back in ‘06, when big bad bankers go down, the card house crumbles.

* * *

There's this feeling of uncertainty that makes him wonder. He knows that Clint won't come out, not in this situation. Not if it doesn't escalate to something more pressing, but Steve can feel that it would be nice to have him on board here.

He's been looking at the wall of information Natasha has pinned up on the wall, and he can't help but wonder what secret links, what exact information Clint would be able to give. So he stares down at the tablet in his hands, and wonders if now is a good time to call Clint and ask him for his input. His thumb circles the unlock button of the tablet, and he keeps himself from pressing it several times.

He'd spoken to Stark earlier, Pepper had managed to get two tickets to the Gala show by speaking directly with the organisers (having the CEO of Stark Enterprises, who isn't Tony Stark anymore, ask for tickets is always good publicity.) Of course, they'd use Natasha’s former cover of Natalie Rushman going in, and give Wanda another one.

When Natasha released all the information about herself and SHIELD onto the net, she gave up her Natalie identity. But, Pepper had told her that they'd asked for her by name. (Either they didn't care that it wasn't her real name, or they hadn't bothered to check up on the facts that had gone down. Steve had often found that whatever happened overseas was never a big deal, and the feeling was mutual).

He looks down at his tablet again and sees his reflection. Sam had told him a bit earlier that they'd been trying to find any clue, but that the French police was keeping them a bit excluded. Rhodes spoke perfect French and had managed to get some understanding of international cooperation between France and the US going, strictly under the table, as Rhodes was there on Avengers business and not army business, but the local press had taken it the other way.

Nice Matin read, “Americans involve themselves in French law enforcement again,” La Provence read, “Stark’s best friend back in Monaco after kidnapping, link to 2010 Vanko case?” and some of the more national newspapers talked about remnants of undisclosed paperwork.

With a quick breath, Steve unlocks the tablet and types in his code. The screen lights up and he presses the blue logo, before going to Clint's pseudonym. ‘Hawkdad’ had been the first thing to pop into Clint's mind, and it had stuck,

Pressing the video call button, Steve thinks about letting it go again, but he could use any input. He can feel that he misses a senior Shield agent's mind and experience, and with Fury gone underground again, Hill working on Capitol Hill against the Registration Act, Clint would be the most appropriate person to help guide him through this.

It takes three rings before the screen goes black and Clint’s face appears as following.

“Hey Cap!” Clint greets, and Steve recognizes Nathaniel sitting on Clint's lap. There's a little laugh from the toddler when, Steve supposes, his own picture connects with their tablet. “Say hi to Steve, Nate.”

But the kid is too busy munching on his fingers to say anything, Steve notices, and there's drool on the grey shirt the kid is wearing. “Clint, how are you? How's Laura doing?” he asks, formally. He is interested in knowing how Laura is doing, he really is, but the map of unknown criminal bosses hanging opposite him push him to urgency.

Clint is stroking Nathaniel's hand softly when Steve hears his echoing question through their tablet. “Laura is better. Her blood samples came back and her liver figures are too low, so she's been told to eat six times a day to get her blood sugar back to level.” He pauses and readjusts Nathaniel on his calf, before sitting a bit more upright. “She's resting. She's tired all the time, but that's a normal thing with mono, so there's nothing more to do.”

Steve nods. He'd made some research of his own, and wouldn't have wished it on anyone. “And the kids?”

“Well, Cooper's been helping me with the cooking, actually, he's been learning from watching all those cooking shows on television. Lila is helping me with the handy work on the farm, she sits just right on the quad now. Follows me around when I have to go to the edges of the property and fix stuff up.” Nathaniel's feet wiggle and he reaches for them, before Clint catches him with his palm, pushing him by the chest back in a sitting position. “Careful there, little dude, your balance isn't that perfect yet.”

He adjusts himself to have a better view of Steve. “But we're good. Everything is slower, and we could definitely use another adult, but Laura’s sister hasn't had mono, so she's out of the picture, and Barney… Well. You know, he hasn't shown up since we raided that Alaskan HYDRA base, so.” He shrugs.

“If I can spare Natasha, I'll send her over a couple of days, to help out a bit,” Steve suggests, and Clint smiles.

“Thanks, Cap.”

“I wanted to ask you for help, if you don't mind,” he finally manages before the awkward silence kicks in. He presses the flip camera button on the screen, and centers the wall so that Clint can see it.

There's a bit of a blur from Clint’s camera, but when it settles he sees that Clint has picked it up and is resting completely against the sofa-bed, Nathaniel nestled against his chest so he won't fall to the side. “Nat made this?”

“Yep, she spent some hours on it this morning,” Steve says as he takes a step closer so Clint can see the details. “I just wanted you to have a look at it, see if there's anything that she missed.”

He sees Clint lift the tablet to get it even closed to his face, as he holds Nathaniel secure with a hand on the toddler’s head. “You've got Petit down, add his relations to the private corporation Quantum. It's another name from what MI-6 released as Spectre back in November, but keep the keyword Quantum. The Tiboldt-Carson merge also links to him, but you've got that down already.” Steve turns the tablet around, so that Clint can get a better look at some of the other pictures and files they've got up.

“Chisholm isn't a threat,” Clint's says when they reach the picture of the circus archer. “He's been in a clinic in Toronto for years, getting treatment for his cancer. He won't have gone anywhere.” Steve knows there's a bit more to that, but he doesn't blame Clint for not telling him.

(He knows the scar on Clint's left shoulder joint comes from an arrow Buck shot at him when they were still partners, or something like that. He knows the reason Clint’s shoulder pains getting worse are a source of worry too, and that Buck is the direct reason for it).

Steve simply nods at this new information, and let's himself be carried along as Clint speaks again. “All I can say, is that they’re prepping for something big, and in this case, Monaco is your best play.” There's a pause where Clint takes the time to stroke his son’s head gently. “Nat said you're sending her and Wanda.”

It's not a question, but Steve answers anyway. “Yes, Natasha will be on the lookout for any strange behavior, and Wanda should be able to sense stress and other strange behaviors.” Also, Wanda would be able to pretend better. She would be able to speak to some of the performers too, maybe get some information out of them. If she wanted to. Do a real magic trick, for once.

“I'd suggest go to the younger performers,” Clint then suggests. “Those who are still young adults. They're still trying to find their way, and if you can get them to talk, they'll be more likely to let some information get out.” He doesn't say that that's what he and Laura did when Coulson came knocking at their door after they rigged a robbery. He doesn't need to say it, because Steve knows. He's read Barton’s file, so he knows him pretty well. And still…

“I'm sorry I can't help any more than this,” Clint states as Nathaniel’s fingers appear in front of the camera as the child tries to grab the tablet from his father's hands. “No, Nate, not time for this now.” The toddler makes a face and a very well played whine escapes the kid's lips. “Better give him his attention before he wakes Laura,” Clint adds, and sits up, readjusting Nathaniel on his lap, and putting the tablet down on the sofa table.

“Let me know if you need any more help than this. I'm ready to play mission control and stuff, but I'm not leaving the farm. Not unless you guys really need me,” he says, and Steve understands. He understands all too well when he waves at Nathaniel who barely waves back as the red color spreads across his face, proof that he's about to start wailing. Clint cuts the connection rapidly, and Steve is faced with his reflection in the tablet.

The young ones. Any of the young performers should be able to do the trick. Why is it always those? The young ones. Those that feel like their life needs to take another direction… Pinching the bridge of his nose, Steve sighs deeply as he puts down the tablet, locking it with a swift movement of his thumb.

Dispatching Natasha and Wanda will probably do good. But so far, barely any of the information Sam and Rhodey have been able to gather have helped them. He wonders if he should go to the farm directly, talk it over with Clint. But then again, he knows that the archer wants troubles and yelling far away from the farm.

Best to wait for this International Circus Festival. Of all things, he wonders. A circus show. What a bunch of freaks they'd be, if they all decided to join one of those travelling circuses - they weren't bearded lady and palm readers, but they were quite the gang. Him and all the others…

* * *

James wonders what he's done to be here. He's barely gotten out of one situation in Salt Lake City, when Captain America himself sends him on his way to Monaco. In all and any other circumstances, he'd have taken the trip with a smile. But the presence of Falcon, Sam Wilson, by his side reminds him constantly of the mission at hand. That, and the insufferable comments that the French just keep giving them.

No, they don't have any more news than those.

No, they don't know anything about Petit.

No, no, no, no…

None of the hooks they've set have caught anything. None of their contacts have talked. There hasn't even been a ransom note. They had prepared for that. James feels like they're stalling, like they know something he doesn't and it bothers him. (“Je vous promets,” he had said at one point, “je suis là pour aider. Monsieur Wilson aussi.”)

He's dealt with international cooperation before, but this just reminds him of his time with stubborn teenagers. When he joins Sam in the bar of their hotel in Nice,  with a nice - and expensive - view onto the Promenade des Anglais, he can't help but take a good look around him. There's something he is missing, and he doesn't like it.

“So, how is your French doing?” he says, as an icebreaker to his teammate. Sam shrugs and lifts his beer as he points to the seat next to him.

“Not good. I know the basics, but some of the stuff here makes me wonder.” There's a slight pause, in which James orders a drink from the waiter, before Sam speaks again. “Why do they call it a chocolatine here, when it's technically called a pain au chocolat ? “

The look on James face must betray him, because Sam laughs out loud at his reaction. “Alright, no, I'm just asking because it feels like I committed high treason by ordering it as a pain au chocolat, and not as a chocolatine.” Shaking his head, James laughs it off.

“Good thing to see you've got the right sort of problem here,” he starts, as the waiter returns with his drink. It's a regular coke, with some ice cubes and a lemon slice. The weather outside stinks, it's been raining for the three past days. He remembers Monaco as that wonderful place from the movies, where all the rich people go. From the Formula 1 races, with that bend into the tunnel, along the water. Nice and Monaco in January isn't a good thing.

They've pushed as far as Menton, a little city a bit outside of Nice - mostly populated by elderly rich people -  in the hopes of finding a clue, but nothing. Absolutely nothing had given them any sort of clue as to where to find Petit.

“I heard from Cap that Nat and Wanda are coming to go to that circus festival,” Sam says, as he sips from his straw. James nods.

“Yup. The ladies will go in and see who they can get information from. It's a good call though, Petit was probably in most of these guys’ pockets, and they're going to be missing some cash.” The two of them nod, before looking at the Promenade. It's a very nice place, with an incredible view. To the left, there's the road to Monaco, leading to the Rocher where the Prince lives with his family. To the right, they can see the never-ending flow of planes taking off and landing at the Nice International Airport.

James pulls out the laptop that he's gotten from Stark, and starts typing away on his mission report. “Say, you ever heard of the times MI-6 had dealings here? Like with that helicopter that got stolen some years ago?” Sam asks, interrupting the typing.

There's a nod, to what James adds: “Yes, I do. The stealth on that helicopter was incredible and Tony didn't rest until they'd destroyed it. He wanted to have a look at it, but British intelligence refused to allow him anywhere near it.” He pauses, before looking back at his screen. There's a new message pending in his inbox, and as he pressed the bolded text, he thinks about who it could be from.

Turns out, it's Natasha. She's forwarded her and Wanda’s flight schedule. They're to leave from JFK, land in Paris Charles de Gaulle (which happens to be the worst airport in the world, James thinks, as he remembers the most boring shops in the world in the transit area), and then on from there to Nice. They'll be there three days from now. He turns the laptop so that Sam can look at the screen too.

“They're going on a commercial flight?” is the only question the other Avenger asks.

“Easier, avoids all the attention with a private jet landing in Nice with the name Stark on it. Last time that happened, Tony almost destroyed Monaco.” Sam smiles, he remembers.

“While we wait, what are we supposed to do?” He doesn't doubt that Sam has an idea in mind, but they're both following orders. Cooperate with the DGSE, the secret intelligence they can, law enforcement. (Take one or two fan pictures with French Avengers fans).

(They could do with some superheroes themselves, some of them say.)

“Go back to Petit’s house. I'm sure there's something we missed. Look at everything, go through his bank accounts, try and figure out where the money went. There's gotta be some trace of it. If necessary, get some outside help to look at the files. Steve’s been talking to Barton about this, and he's said that we shouldn't underestimate the circus folk.”

A pause. “Most of them are good guys, family-friendly entertainment dudes, but there are the tricksters and liars and war mongering villains there. Tiboldt is proof of that.”

“We just gotta make sure none of them escape us. If we don't pay attention…” Sam clicks his fingers, and they both understand the message clearly. It can go wrong so fast: they can make one mistake, oversee one detail, and everything goes to shit from there. They've both lost men, and friends, within the blink of an eye. Riley shot down from the sky, Tony kidnapped after an attack on the humvee. As far as James is concerned, this is of the utmost importance.

Getting the ladies in here to look at those circus artists is the best move. As is keeping an eye on people entering the country and those leaving it.

* * *

The first thing that pops up which is an interesting fact, is that the same day Natasha and Wanda are set to arrive, a private jet originating from Miami is set to land in Nice airport. So far, nothing seems out of the ordinary. However, when the DGSE refuses to share the identity of the people aboard - a breach of intelligence and confidence - it becomes more tricky. They can't track the people on board, because passport control keeps the information quiet. They can't hack it.

And yet, here they are. They've been hearing the commotion all day long, the local press hasn't stopped writing about it. Surprise guest, unknown benefactor suddenly donates a large sum of money to the festival. Immediately connected to the Prince Albert and his funds, connected to the performers, invited to the gala night to meet all.

It wouldn't be so strange if they'd had a name or a face to go with. But, this guy? He wears a mask. He wears a mask wherever he goes, and there's no way for them to figure out who lives beneath it. Nice Matin states that it's because he's a famous person who would like to enjoy the world of the circus from an anonymous point of view, La Provence states that it's because he is completely disfigured that he's hiding behind the fabric, Midi Libre got involved by saying that he's just some rich dude pretending to be Michael Jackson and that it's all a press stunt from the Festival’s part, trying to get media attention.

But both Sam and James know that this isn't a coincidence. So, when they're sitting in the arrival hall of Nice International Airport, waiting for Natasha and Wanda to come out and join them, they're on edge. They're onto something, and it feels both good and bad. Good, because they were right. Bad, because they're missing information and it feels frustrating.

* * *

“What do we know about him?”

Wanda asks the question, even though they all have the same idea of an answer: nothing. They know absolutely nothing about this guy, except that he apparently owns enough money to get into the airport on a private jet on a short moment's notice, that he donated a lot of money to the festival, and that even the Prince himself was to greet him. They have one blurry picture they got from a Twitter account.

“Nothing,” is the answer Natasha gives as she puts down the A4 paper onto the table in the hotel room they've all gathered in. Sam and James moved from Nice and their ocean view room to a smaller B&B in Cagnes-sur-Mer. There's just scribbles of notes on the paper, and they all look at it as if it's the paper’s fault.

“He's got a black mask and suit on, with yellow lines on them. We don't even know what language he speaks when he speaks with people, if he's French, Italian, Spanish or any other nationality. We know noth-”

The sound of an incoming call interrupts her, and Natasha picks up the Samsung tablet that she's picked up on her way. She replies the call and sets up the tablet so the front camera faces the four of them.

“Hi Cap,” is the reply she gives before the others do the same. She notices that Steve is wearing  his stealth suit and that he's got dirt on his shoulder. “Been rolling around in the mud again?” she asks, as Sam inches closer.

“Followed up on that lead on our missing person?” Falcon asks, and Steve nods.

“Went out all the way to Saskatchewan yesterday, but there's nothing there. Just made it back. Rhodes, I read your rapport. The French aren't cooperating, but you've got to make them understand that it is because we want to help. This is beyond their own powers, they've got to understand that this is not American politicians meddling. It's us. Make it happen.”

He turns his head and Wanda inches closer. He speaks to Sam first though. “Sam, get to Cannes and scout there for any information. When you're done there, cross the border to Italy and see if you can push as far as San Remo. Natasha has probably told you by now, they sometimes hide out on the other side of the border. See if there's any commotion you can dig up.” Another pause, that Steve uses to pull off his mask.

Natasha always jokes about his hair when he takes it off, but not this time. “Natasha and Wanda, you get ready for the gala. Everything points to this new guy being there too. Wanda, I know we haven't trained it that much, but try to get a read on him. Anything from inside his head, maybe the language he thinks in if you can do that. Natasha, use your influence as Natalie to get close to people. Most of them know who you really are, but there are some people who won't know anyway.”

“I think I can get a read of him,” Wanda says before Natasha can reply. “His mask only protects him from eyes. Not the mind.”

Natasha nods to Steve, and terminates the connection so they can get a plan of action ready.

“Wanda and I will be in the arena, almost literally, for about five hours, since there's the entire arrival thing going on, it's like the Oscars for Circus artists. You guys go dig up things. If you need to stay the night, Sam, do that. How's your Italian?”

“Better than my French,” he replies and Natasha nods.

“Good, dig up anything you can find. James, you know what to do?”

“Go directly to the men in charge. Try and get them to give me some files and information on Petit and Duquesne. Maybe a connection to an unknown party we can cross reference with our own database and narrow down who this new player is.” There's a pause. “Anyone else think his costume looks badass though?”

Rubbing her temple, Natasha side eyes the blurry twitter picture. “It does. He looks like someone wanted to be a ninja but couldn't resist adding color to it.”

Wanda turns around and walks to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Natasha knows the preparations for a public appearance only too well, so she dismisses the two boys to their rooms. They'll be in direct contact with each other all through the night with their communications in their ears.

* * *

“What do you think is happening?” Wanda asks once they're alone. She misses the safety of the Shield training facility, but having come with Natasha makes her feel a bit more relaxed. With the redhead around, she feels safe. There's nothing that can go wrong -  out of all the magicians in the world, she's probably the one who can do most damage. The magic tricks they'll see tonight, sparse between juggling and knife throwing and acrobatics are all but that. Tricks. Nothing that can hurt her.

“Something we don't understand yet. But I'm pretty sure we will, after tonight,” Natasha replies. Wanda can feel the excitement flowing through Natasha’s veins, and she can feel that this is something Natasha is used to. Her? She feels like she's about to lose it. She can feel the doubt and the stress go through her veins, and she's slowly coming to mind with the fact that if they don't figure this out, something big is going to happen.

(The scars of Ultron are still fresh in her mind. The grieving for Pietro still not completely done. She's afraid that this will be another failure if she can't see it coming, and she knows it's ridiculous. Natasha and Steve have both repeatedly told her that it's alright to not know from the get go that something is about to happen. But she still feels responsible nonetheless. Sokovia was destroyed because of her wish for revenge. She almost had the entire Earth destroyed - not just humans, but fauna and flora as well.)

(She still wakes screaming in terror at the thoughts of extermination that she'd seen in Vision’s mind that first time.)

“How do you do it?”

It's not her first field mission - she had accompanied Steve on one, some weeks ago, to try and get a feel off a hotel room that Bucky Barnes had allegedly slept in. But that had felt less urgent than this one.

“Stay calm and focused?”

Natasha’s hands stop applying the foundation onto her cheeks, and she looks at Wanda’s reflection in the mirror. “It's something I learnt a long time ago,” she starts replying as she focuses on her own reflection again. “If we aren't in control of ourselves when the mission starts, we aren't in control of the mission.”

She paints her face in an equal shade of foundation, before she picks up the black crayon to outline her green eyes. Applying makeup before a mission always makes her feel like putting on a war suit. It's different than her catsuit, but it's a sort of war paint anyway. Wanda has put on a little bit of it too, to hide the dark circles under her eyes, but not as much as Natasha.

Natasha has to be perfect. “Going into the unknown is like leaping out of a moving train,” she continues, as she traces the upper eyelid with a master hand. Not shaking. Never. “You have to expect anything, from a soft fall to a hard one. For guns to greet you or silence to greet you. Some trains throw you off in the wilderness, in complete and utter quiet, others... “

She finishes the outline with a thin line that makes her eyes look sharper.

“Others throw you right into the wolf’s den.”

Wanda feels Natasha's heartbeat. There isn't a single skip, and she knows it because Natasha has seen worse. She's live worse out. Secretly, Wanda wishes that Clint were here too. He would know what to do and what to say -  it's not that Natasha doesn't have a sense of humor, but it feels more natural when Clint is there. She knows it's a selfish thought, but she could use him. He was there, in Sokovia, when she was about to lose it.

He was there when she was having a panic attack over the consequences of her actions, and he managed to pull her together and help her get through it. He gave her responsibility and trusted her. She would very much like him to be here, to ground her. She always likes his presence, when he comes to visit. His thoughts and laugh echo far louder in her mind than in those of others, and whenever he leaves she can feel the silence drape over her shoulders like a heavy weight. Sam is a fun guy too, but he wasn't there, in Sokovia. He wasn't there when Pietro died.

“You alright?” Natasha asks. Wanda focuses on her again, and in her reflection in the mirror, sees that red glows have begun forming around her hands.

“I'm fine,” she states as she turns her back to go to the bed. She's stressed about this. This is something she isn't used to. She hears the floor creak before Natasha's weight settles on the mattress.

“Talk to me.”

“It is nothing, I am fine,” Wanda tries. But Natasha knows better than to fetch the information, so she just sits there, her hands on her lap, letting Wanda decide for herself what to do.

“I am afraid of the failure. I am afraid that we will miss him. That there will be consequences and it will be my fault,” she finally says, opening up to Natasha who stares at a picture on the wall. It's a cheap print of a painting, probably purchased in an IKEA or a store similar.

“It's a rational thing, to be afraid,” the Russian assassin starts. “You don't know what to expect, so your body and mind tell you to stay alert all the time.” Wanda feels the calm Natasha tries to convey. It rubs off on her. Her heartbeat slows.

“You are not going to fail anyone in there, Wanda. You've done this before, helped. If it becomes too much, we'll leave. There's no need for you to stay here.” Natasha pauses, and Wanda tries to focus on her breathing.

“Besides, clowns have always creeped me out too. Have you seen how scary they are?”

Natasha smiles at Wanda, and Wanda smiles back. It feels a bit better now, she thinks she can do this. It's just a reconnaissance mission, they're just supposed to get to talk to this new player. This newest guy who has decided to meddle in internal affairs.

Basically, it's just go in and enjoy the best circus show in the world.

Nothing that can possible go wrong, right?

* * *

The first thing that blinds them is the flash of a camera. Not one of those small flashes from a mobile phone or a pocket camera, but one of the flashes from an additional flash, hooked onto a professional camera. Natasha steps out of the car first, taking the first hit of flashes, before Wanda follows behind. The scarlet witch is hiding her eye with her hands, and Natasha guides her through the first ten metres of press before she slows down. There, there is less flash. More professionals.

“Honey, over here!” one guy yells, and Natasha turns to glare at him. She hears the click on several of the cameras go off, and Wanda slowly starts walking to the end of the carpet. “What are you doing here?” another male journalist asks, and Natasha turns again, showing off her curves. She might as well, these pictures will probably show up in all either tabloids or TV program magazines in the next couple of days.

“You going to a circus show is a bit like you going to work, right?” an idiot yells, and that takes it. She hears even more shots being taken as she lowers her hand and her purse, glaring at them. She knows her makeup is on point, and the one who'd basically called the Avengers a freak show (typical), loses his color.

She walks in large strides across the red carpet, weaving around celebrities - she recognizes Eric Cantona, a former French soccer player who's been seen on a lot of red carpets lately. She recognizes Patrick Berdino, the young circus Prince from Danish Cirkus Arena. He's probably down here to support his artist Michael Ferreri, a juggler. There's lots of faces that she recognizes - politicians, artists, painters, press. Wanda is standing slightly to the side, talking to a face Natasha has seen before. It takes her the time to join them and to hear his Spanish accent to place him.

“Miss Romanoff,” he greets, and Natasha extends her hand. He's a Spanish matador, José Maria Manzanares. He is also a model for Dolce and Gabanna, and a bit of a sweetheart in his home country. She has no good or bad opinion on him (not her place to judge what he does for a living), but she has seen pictures of him without a suit on. He cleans up very well.

“ _Senor_ ,” she greets. “ _Lo siento_ ,” as she takes her hand back and leads Wanda away from him. There are many famous faces here, but so far, she hasn't seen the one they're looking for. Either he hasn't made it to the carpet yet, or he has come earlier. Before all the commotion began. She wouldn't blame him, honestly.

Leading her and Wanda in, they ask for their invitations when they reach the doors. She hands them to the young man, dressed in a bright red suit that reminds her too much of research pictures she'd seen when the Red Room had briefed her on Hawkeye, before Clint took her in.

The first thing that makes her stop up is the smell. Not a specifically bad one, but the lack of one. Usually, when you go to the circus it smells of animals and of wood, but not here. Here, everything smells clean. Everyone looks clean. It's true that most of the people here are famous and professionals, it still feels off.

The second thing that makes her stop, is the fact that they enter from the top of the seats. Usually you come out at the bottom. She is calm, assessing the situation. Wanda by her side senses the calm and settles in a steady pace next to her. On their way down, Natasha sees him first.

She stops on the step, and Wanda bumps into her. “He's here,” she states, as people pass by them on their way to their seats. He is standing near the stairs about 60 degrees left from them, talking to one of the uniform clad guys who had checked their tickets. There is another man, standing about two metres away, who appears to be a bodyguard. Or at least a sort of goon, if Natasha were to name him herself.

It takes half a second for Wanda to see him too. “Wait til we’re at our seats,” Natasha says as she takes Wanda’s hand and guides her down the steps. No need to get any more attention. This Festival de Monte Carlo is famous enough that it can ripple effects back a long way, and if there's anything Natasha knows is that any ripple in any professional circle can go a long way.

So when they finally reach their seats, Natasha pulling up her silver dress to not step on it and Wanda pushing back her vintage knit long cardigan, the man in the mask is still talking.

“War Machine, Falcon,” Natasha says in a hushed voice, getting the two men’s attention. Rhodes is back in Nice for the night, and Sam is across the border in Italy. They agreed that unless specifically addressed they shouldn't come on coms.

“Falcon in,” comes first, followed by a “War Machine in.”

“We've got eyes on the suspect,” Natasha says as a passerby on their way to their seats walks past her and Wanda. “I'll let you know any further developments. Widow out.”

There's no need to make the conversation drag on for longer than that.

When she finally feels like it's the right time, in the time right before the start of the show and the time their target must go to his seat, Natasha turns to Wanda.  “Can you get any read of him?”

“I can try,” Wanda states in a hushed voice. She turns her head and focuses. Natasha can see Wanda’s eyes turn red, extending her mind magic all the way to the person in black and yellow clothing. It's all a silence for a couple of seconds, as if things suddenly happen in slow motion.

Wanda closes her eyes to focus more intently on the target, and just as she does that, he turns his head. Natasha can't see his eyes because of the mask, but she can almost imagine the smile that falls in place on his face, because the second after he's looked directly at them, Wanda jerks, as if electrocuted. Natasha catches her from her seat with a quick reflex, “Wanda! Can you hear me?” she asks, before looking up, seeing the man watch them and walking away, into the backstage area.

If she were alone, Natasha would have gone after him, but not now. Wanda still has her eyes closed, and a security agent as well as a one of the young people responsible for seating have come forth asking if they need assistance Damn those guys were quick. “She just needs some air. Help me get her out.”

She stands up, under the eyes of knowing people, and helps Wanda out. She isn't speaking, hasn't said anything. She's rubbing her forehead and her temples, her fingers white with the effort. “Wanda, talk to me.”

Nothing.

“Wanda!”

As soon as they make it out of the public eye and out to the back, Natasha takes Wanda’s head by the chin, and forces her to look up. “Look at me,” she continues, as someone puts a bottle of water in her hand. She doesn't look over her shoulder to see who it was.

“What happened?”

“There was electricity,” is the only reply she gets, as Wanda latches her hand out of Natasha's grip. She goes back to rubbing her forehead. “It was like it electrocuted me. I could not read his mind. I could not read anything.”

Natasha keeps calm, even though she's fuming on the inside. She will get that bastard’s head.

“Hey, Wanda, listen to me. Calm down, it's going to go away.” She takes Wanda's hand again, and instead of letting the witch rub her forehead, Natasha does it. Small circular movements that she remembers helped Clint right after Loki.

What the hell was it? She thinks, when Wanda relaxes slightly under her touch. Her forehead is damp, she is sweating and uncomfortable. Natasha rubs the temples next, in small motions that take out the stress. Some people come and ask if they need help, but Natasha dismisses them. She hears the music start on the other side of the curtain and knows the show has started.

“Go,” Wanda manages to croak after a couple of seconds. “I can take care of myself. It is nothing.” She looks up at Natasha who sees the determination in the face of the young Avenger.

Getting up, Natasha lifts the hem of her silver dress up and secures it in a knot under her knees. If she's going to go after this guy, she isn't going to do it in high heels and a long dress that limits her strides to 50 cms. She's going to kill him when she catches him.

* * *

The first sign that she catches of him as she leaves Wanda behind is his goon. He's stayed where he was when their faceless target was talking to the organizers. In the dim lighting in the arena, Natasha can make out his silhouette against the stage.

It's this young juggler, Michael Ferreri, doing his act right now. The balls are flying up high, and Natasha quickly remembers the skill it takes to be able to do something like that. She pushes the thought aside and heads straight for the goon who sees her coming with a smile. She walks swiftly, going for him, but ending up following him as he starts walking out to the back himself.

Nobody stops her, since he motions to the young lady that checks badges that Natasha is with him. (This, Natasha thinks, is a bit insane. Shouldn't he tell the young lady to stop her? Not that it would stop her. It would just slow her down.)

She thanks the young girl and walks past her as she follows him. There are circus artists warming up around her, in colored costumes and bright coloring. She can't remember the last time she's seen such a sight, but in between the acrobats, lion tamers and other artists, there seems a never ending threat. She recognizes some faces from the Circus of Wonders, the love child of the Circus of Crime and Carson’s.

However, the impeccably clothed goon doesn't stop up, but rather walks straight through the mass and leaves it up to her to follow or not. Nobody stops her, nobody stands in her way. Now, Natasha understands why Clint didn't want to come. So many of these faces must know who she is because they know who he is. She can feel their gazes on her back as she moves past them, and is relieved when she makes it out of the tent.

Looking around, she realizes the goon has taken her out to where the animals are parked. Like a zoo, except with animals used to noise, lights and smoke effects. She would laugh at the smoke and mirrors reference if she wasn't so intent on catching this guy. Or at least getting something out of him.

“Welcome, miss Romanoff,” the goon says, as he points what she realizes is a remote control at something behind her, slightly higher up. The lights dim out here, and through the noise of lions breathing, and a - was that a jaguar? - moving around, she suddenly focuses on what she can see straight ahead of her. He's right there, back against one of the cages the Tigers are in, apparently not in the least scared of what the big cats will do to him if they realize he's there.

“What did you do to her?” she asks, and the goon leaves as the masked man pushes himself to a standing position. Her eyes slide down his figure, and fall onto his hand. One of them carry a sword. Not good. There's a silence, until the goon comes back, red faced and puffing.

“Nobody here,” he states and the masked man nods. Natasha's fingers move to the back of her ear and she turns off her communications device so that none of the team can hear what is about to go down.

“Electric shock,” he replies, as he pulls the bottom of the mask up to reveal a necklace like device. “Had to keep her out of my head, didn't I?”

“You fucking asshole,” she replies. An electromagnetic force field that Wanda can't go through? Well, he'd definitely thought this through.

She walks up to him, faster than anticipated and slaps him across the face. “She almost passed out, you dummy!”

“No need to yell at me, if she figured it out in the first run, this mission would be a complete waste of time, wouldn't it?” the mask replies.

He loses the amused tone. “Incoming,” he suddenly says, growing serious again and rapidly pulls the mask back down completely, years of training with it paying off just as the sound of wings and a propulser reach them. It's Sam. But he's still too far out to reach them.

“How do you want to do this?” she yells at him, and he takes up position, sword firmly held in his hand.

“We’re still friends, right?” he calls to her as she engages too, pulling her bites out from a strap to her thigh under her dress.

“Depends how hard you hit me, _Ronin_ ,” she replies, and he takes a step forward, his form perfect. She'd always forgotten that he'd been trained as a swordsman first and foremost. It had been Duquesne himself that had taught him to use a sword and some knives while he was his mentor and teacher.

“I'll be kind,” he quips at her as he swings his sword in his hand, his wrist flicking at the motion. She jumps to the side and they both let go of their regular personas, going back into their sparring mode. The same way that they would always spar, no mercy whatsoever to go for.

She hears the blade sing through the air as he quickly turns on himself, avoiding her punch and her kick, taking a step back to allow his weapon to touch her. The sound of the fight agitates the cats in the cages and they start growling. Some of them bare their teeth, excited at the action.

She feels the burn of the sharp blade before she realizes she's been cut. He twists on his feet, stopping up a couple of steps away from her as she takes the time to adjust herself again. He's holding the sword up in front of himself, as a sort of shield against her bites. The scent of blood floods her own senses, and she can only imagine what it's doing to the cats in the cages around her.

“You fucking-” she starts as she remembers the com in her ear, turning it on again just as she leaps at him again, trying to avoid the long blade he's been holding. She focuses on his movements with the sword, dancing between and against it, the tip of it drawing blood whenever she gets too close. And suddenly, two things happen at once.

“Romanoff!” the Falcon calls, as she suddenly feels a much smaller blade against her bare neck, the long sword suddenly sitting in its sheath, the free hand gripping her previously impeccable hair.

“Don't!” she calls at her partner, as the masked man, no, Ronin, jerks her head back violently, exposing the veins on her neck even more to the fine blade in his hand.

“ _Si tu fais un pas en avant, elle crève,_ ” Ronin says and Falcon focuses the gun in his hand on the mask. There's a tiger nearby, watching her with knowing eyes, it's mouth slightly open. She can see its fangs, and she wonders just how quickly she would die if that animal was to get out of the cage.

Sam however, isn't in a playing mood. “Let her go,” he states, clearly and easily, as the wings on his back fold together.

“Sam, don't. I've got this,” Natasha replies, but Ronin simply jerks her head again, and this time, she feels the blade bite at her neck. There are several cuts on her body, she can feel the blood dripping on her arm, right above her bites. That one is deep. She hadn't seen the blade coming, and it had cut her deeply. It's starting to throb now.

There's a quiet moment of silence, until suddenly the goon reappears with what seems to be a little grenade, and when he throws it, Natasha yells at Sam to move.

The second the small device hits the floor, it explodes in a heavy black smoke and she feels the hands let go of her. Her knees make contact with the ground as the masked ninja disappears, while the cats all around start making noises, agitated, whining noises. There's some growling, and she hears the distinct sound of a jaguar somewhere.

Suddenly, there's people everywhere, moving about them, trying to calm the animals down. She feels and hears Sam come to her, and when he puts his hands on her shoulder to help her up again, she knows.

This first part of the plan went perfectly. Time to move on to phase 2. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The[ Festival International du Cirque](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cThFVplchqk) is a real thing. [Michael Ferreri](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mxuY02FOAdw) is a cutie pie. Also, yes, I did just mention Goldeneye. And, no, you can’t stop me from pretending all of those movies I’ve hinted at exist in the same universe. (Sue me!)
> 
> Anyway! Tell me what you thought. Tell me what you feel right now. Tell me all, and let me know. This is, as I've said before, a NaNoWriMo, so it hasn't been beta'd, other than me proofreading it. Any and all mistakes are my own.  
> See you next time I update?


	2. The Pledge - Phase II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha got a taste of a stranger's sword, and that leads to new clues. But the most difficult part is figuring out who the puppeteer is. Because someone is pulling all the strings, like a delicately weaved spiderweb, and every single pluck the Avengers do on the thread ripple back up to the Master. But who is it? And why are they so intent on going after Clint Barton?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank you all for commenting on the previous chapter. All of you. Your feedback is amazing, and I seriously mean it when I say that comments make my day, because they do. I really hope you won't stop commenting, because they make me want to make an even better story.
> 
> As for this chapter, there are no additional trigger warnings. I'm introducing a new character, which you guys should like very much. And yeah- just enjoy it. I've had a shitty day, and your feedback would make everything much, much better.
> 
> Any and all typos or spelling mistakes are my own.
> 
> Happy readings!

“How come your coms went down?”

Natasha is sitting on her bed, bandaged several places. There's a tablet on the table in front of her, facing towards her. Clint and Nathaniel appear on it, and he's holding the child against his hip as he's moving to the kitchen.

“I don't know, some sort of failure.” She shrugs, and she feels the cuts on her shoulder as she moves. They needed to stitch some of the cuts the sword had made.

Wanda is sitting opposite her, going through the local newspapers, while Sam is going through the last year’s newspapers too, looking for any sign that something was brewing.

She can hear the clicking of a spoon in a mug, and she watches the screen. Clint has set his own tablet down on the kitchen table, so she can see his hips and the lower part of his upper body, where Nathaniel is carefully nestled against his father's hip. “Come on, buddy, show Natasha how good you're getting with making daddy his coffee,” the archer baby talks, and soon enough, tiny fingers reach out to press on the green button.

The machine starts whirring and a satisfied noise comes from Nathaniel. Clint pushes slightly on the tablet so his face shows. “You look like shit too,” Natasha states with a smile on her face.

“Yeah, not my fault the barn decided to break down on my face,” Clint grumbles, as Nathaniel wiggles tentatively, trying to get a hand onto the tablet.

“Eppa.”

“No, you do not get to watch Peppa Pig,” Clint firmly insists, as he turns back, picks up the full mug, and takes the tablet between the fingers he isn't using to keep Nathaniel a steady weight against him. “Showing him that cartoon was a gateway to hell,” he says, and she hears a muffled Laura telling him to watch his language.

Natasha's eyes dart to Steve who has joined them in France. (The commotion of getting Steve, aka Captain America, in France had been huge. Not a surprise. The last great hero France had had was the General De Gaulle, and that was over fifty years ago. No doubt they were thirsty for something new).

“What was he like, this guy, anyway? Any clues?” Clint asks.

He settles the tablet on the sofa table, before putting the mug down next to it. He settles Nathaniel on his lap, and the toddler starts munching on his fist. He's been teething lately, so there's been a lot of crying and red eyes. (And biting daddy and mommy, Natasha knows).

Sam's head pops up. “That dude was freaky, man. He had a sword, and he almost cut Natasha's throat.” There's a common thought in the room that the man was dangerous. “He used magic disappearing powder too, like in the movies.”

Wanda snorts. “There is no such thing as magic,” and at her voice Nathaniel points at the tablet.

“Dada?”

“Yep, that's Wanda. Say hi to Wanda.”

Clint urges the baby forward, centering the tablet so that Nathaniel's face suddenly takes up the entire space. Natasha feels Steve next to her tense a little. Yes, she wants to say, it's annoying that Clint can't talk mission like he usually does, or that he can't debrief professionally. But Laura is back in bed, doctor’s orders, so Clint can't leave the farm without the three kids in tow. He'd managed to set them off to their respective hobbies - Cooper did a creative workshop sort of thing, and Lila went horseback riding (and mountain climbing).

“No real clues, then?” Clint finally asks, as he pulls Nathaniel back against his chest. Nathaniel is sleepy, you can see it in his eyes. Natasha does a quick conversion of the time and reaches the conclusion that his nap is coming up.

Steve shakes his head off frame. “No, nothing. Except that sword and the fact that he's got a goon. Nor that he's disappeared from any and all official documents.” He pauses. “It’s like he made a deal to not be written up anywhere when he donated the money.”

It had been really annoying. Natasha had needed stitches, so she'd been transported to a hospital, in spite of her repetitive insisting that she did not need medical help, and that had left Sam looking for scraps of information, as Wanda came back to her senses, and felt the general panic in the tent room. The panic of the people and the animals had overwhelmed her, and she'd needed some time off. Which she had found in a small alcove, where nobody bothered her.

“So, let me get this straight, you have creepy dude in a ninja suit trying to kill or at least maim Natasha, no clue who he is except he speaks French to his goon and that he escaped with magic.” He purses his lips as Nathaniel wiggles against his chest, apparently impatient for his nap. Looking down at him, Clint sighs. “Sounds like you guys have got another ghost to hunt for,” he finally says, and at Nathaniel's frown, he frowns back.

“Don't you dare start yelling, little mister. Mommy's sleeping, and if you wake her she'll be very cross with you.”

Natasha can sort of understand that it's frustrating to have to hear this when they've literally been under attack here. So she looks at Steve, who just nods. The conversation is over. However, when Clint catches her hand going for the hang-up button, he speaks again, interrupting her motion. “Hey, no, wait. Barney left a message the other day,” he says, fast enough that Natasha doesn't cut off the conversation too fast.

“Says that he's heard the Circus of Wonders is up to something,” he adds, trying to keep a still wiggling Nathaniel from falling off of him. “He said a name, Ronin. That's the name you're supposed to go for, if that makes any difference to you guys.”

Sam stops reading the newspaper. “Barney?”

“Yeah, my brother Barney,” Clint replies across the ocean. “He's been digging around in those circles too, since we've got favors to cash in on, and he says that's a name they've been hearing for a while now. It might help you guys out, I guess?” There's a soft whine, which is the clear sign that Nathaniel is absolutely done with this.

“Alright, good luck guys, mister McCranky Pants here needs his nap. Call me if you need any more help,” he says, and Natasha presses the red button just as Clint gets up from the sofa. He's wearing his sweatpants, and she knows it's because there's no way he can relax at home if he's not wearing them.

* * *

Steve had flown out right after Rhodes had told him about the encounter with their mystery man. He'd taken one of Stark’s jets, discretion the least of his concern. There had been a voiced debate on television in France about whether or not the public felt concern that the Avengers themselves were getting involved in Petits kidnapping case. Some were concerned, but not of the right things: they were afraid that their own investigation syndicates were obsolete, and that suddenly there weren't enough professionals to understand everything.

If Captain America meddled with something, like he did in Seoul during the Ultron debacle, it meant something big was going on. So, of course, all the news station of Europe were suddenly tracking Petit and his personal information. Natasha had scoured Twitter, Facebook, online newspapers. James had watched LCI, BFM TV, the National News on both TF1, France 2 and the local ones on France 3, but they all found the same facts that they had.

Except, perhaps, La Provence. There had been an article, two days before, written by an anonymous person in their guest section, about Petit and what this person had been seeing. From what Natasha understood from the article, the person lived on Petit’s street, and could therefore follow what had been going on up to the kidnapping.

“ _I'd been seeing new cars in the street. We're used to the fancy Sportscar parade every now and then, but this time it was different. Instead of the small fast cars, they were moving around in Jeeps and other four wheel drives. Something was up, but I didn't think of it. Petit always took good care of me and my kids. Especially when they would throw their ball across the fence and had to get it back. I don't understand what happened to him but I hope that you find the masked man and that you find Petit again._ ”

It wasn't a big reader letter, or anything like that. It was just… some new information. The name Ronin wasn't a big hit on the Internet nor in sealed files. There had been several crime bosses and villains who had used the name for their own sake, Steve knew beforehand, but this time it felt different. The fact that he used swords bothered him.

Why the old fashioned weapon? He had to be in tow with the Swordsman. If there was one thing that frustrated Steve even more than usual, it was the fact that they wouldn't be able to get Clint out and help them in this. It would be a struggle, just to get him out of the house for a couple of hours, so for an entire ride across the world… Forget it. It wasn't going to happen.

And still, Steve thinks, there is this possibility that something might get Clint out of his comfort zone. If Duquesne suddenly shows up and calls him out, making it personal. (If he were the one looking at it, he'd want Clint to come out too. Everybody knew about Clint, especially after Natasha leaked shields files on the Internet. Everybody knew where he came from and what he'd done during his past. And, if the Avengers got involved in circus business without their circus boy… Well, Steve figured, if he was a circus performer, he would feel a slight at his pride.)

“Here's the thing that I don't get,” he finally says as he finishes reading up Natasha's brief. “What was he talking to that guy about? And why was it so important that it couldn't wait?”

Shrugging, Sam closes his eyes. He's been up for the better part of the last 24 hours, and he can feel the soreness seep through his feet and his muscles. He's taken some well earned rest on the hotel bed. “The reason probably is that he has contacts that need new information or new mission orders, and since we haven't been able to find any devices we could hack that he uses for communication, he probably had to give the orders himself.”

James’ head perks up. “That's actually not a bad hypothesis.”

“I also think he knows more about us than we do him,” Natasha offers, as she puts down her com device on the table. “I think what Wanda felt as an electromagnetic impulse that kept her out of his head also fried my com device for a while.”

“So he knows about us. The question is why?” Steve asks again.

There's a general idea that this has to do with the one former Avenger member who is currently out of it. “They are looking for Clint,” Wanda finally says, because she probably knows there's no need to keep that idea quiet.

If it's really what they want, they're going to have to change their tactics. And probably cut off the communications, unless Stark’s technology really is impossible to hack. (Which Natasha doesn't doubt, since Vision helped with the coding of it, to ensure that none of the Bartons would ever run into trouble).

“But why now?”

That's the real question, and Sam just asked it. There's a sigh, and Natasha settles down next to Wanda on the hotel bed that isn't currently occupied.

“It's got to do with what he did when he left the circus,” she starts as she looks up at Steve. “You've read Clint's file?” she asks, and he nods. “But you read the redacted one,” she adds, and he nods again.

“What I'm going to tell you here is classified, and you can't tell anyone. And I mean anyone about this,” she looks each of them in the eye. They all nod, even Sam, who's pushed himself upright on the bed.

“When Clint got recruited into SHIELD, it wasn't because he joined of his own free will,” she states, as she sees James’ amused smile, “He hasn't always been the #1 top SHIELD agent you all know him as,” she continues, “he had to drop the circus behind and that was the most difficult thing he's ever done. Mostly because the circus was his life - it wasn't a healthy one. He worked for Duquesne and Chisholm, as a performer in Carson circus, but he also worked for them in a less public way.”

She pauses, takes a deep breath. “They were robbers and thieves.” It's not an intentional pause for drama, it just happens to feel like that. “They robbed people, and sometimes, the robberies went wrong. Clint usually stood for the lookout and making sure nobody was there when they did their job, and he stacked up a body count.”

She doesn't know if Wanda knows all of this, but it's best for her to know. At least, she will know that Clint became a better man, Natasha wonders. Steve, however doesn't seem phased. “When SHIELD got to him, he'd tried to break off from his two mentors and started working as an assassin, and he'd reached double digits.” She looks down at her fingers, and remembers that she, too, had blood on her hands. They both had ledgers, and she still needed to come to terms with that. Even all those years later.

“So, when he did leave, he rigged the last job. Not only did it fail, but they got caught. Buck Chisholm got caught by the authorities, but not Jacques Duquesne. Not Duquesne, because he had fled a month or two before right after he'd pushed Clint off a tightrope and left him for dead.”

If there was a fly in the room, they'd be able to hear it flying around, because none of her colleagues were making a sound. “However, Clint knows through his brother Barney that Duquesne and Chisholm were in it together right up until then.” She picks up the tablet and finds Chisholm most recent mugshot, where he looks too sick for anything else.

“Chisholm isn't the threat here, Clint has assured me of this as he has visited. him a couple of times recently, since Chisholm is dying from terminal cancer.” She hands out the tablet to Wanda, who passes it on to the others.

“Duquesne and the Circus of Wonders are going to be behind this, and they're looking for Clint. They know he's out there because of the files I leaked onto the Internet, and they know he's hiding because he hasn't been seen with us for a while.”

She feels Wanda’s hand brush against hers, and she can feel it shaking. “Our main priority is to keep doing what we've done - leave Clint in his safe house, and deal with this without him. If he comes out, they'll flock around him to take him down.”

Steve finally nods sternly, and Sam looks around the room like he's just been punched in the gut. “Like Rafiki said, the past can hurt. But you can either run from it, or learn from it,” to what Wanda arches her eyebrow.

“You are quoting a children's cartoon now?”

“Yeah, well. Seems like he's got some issues that need to be fixed, and he can't do that right now because he's got a family to take care of. Does that mean we get to be his first line of defense?” Sam asks, and both James, Natasha and Steve nod in unison.

“Great. What do we do now?”

“I go to the farm,” Natasha states. “I need to brush up on the profiles of the people who are going to be working with Duquesne.”

"We’ll look into the records on Duquesne. Get Barton to send Barney’s coordinates, if he has them. I'd like to talk to his brother about all this,” Steve asks, and Natasha nods again.

Wanda, who has been quiet all this time looks up. “I will talk to this Buck Chisholm,” she states, with no trembling in her voice. “I need to make sure that he is safe and that is not a threat to us or Clint.” Steve stops what he's doing and looks at her. He can see her force in her eyes and knows that if he told her she can't go there, she won't. But he knows she's right - even if Barton has dismissed Chisholm as a threat, they need to make sure. If Clint is wrong on this, it might be a security risk and they can't afford that.

Not when there's kids involved.

* * *

As soon as she gets on the plane to Toronto, Wanda finally feels that this is the first time she can relax. There are nobody there to bother her or ask her what she thinks.

She'd always known that Clint had a dark past, something that he kept hiding in the back of his head whenever she brushed her mind against his. Laura came from the same place, she knew, because Laura had told her. (And because there were pictures of a very young Clint in the arms of a very young Laura in their house too). But she still couldn't get to terms with the fact that Clint had been in such a bad place that the betrayal he'd committed to join SHIELD had to give such retaliation.

She knows he's a killer. He is an assassin first and foremost, a spy and a secret agent. There's nothing kind in a job like that. But having Natasha spell out his past, where he comes from… It had felt like a shake to her very core. Clint Barton was the man who had given her a choice, on the flying city. He'd been the one to tell her that she could still go back, or she could fight. He had given her a choice. And Wanda didn't doubt a single second that this choice, this opportunity to make a decision to right her wrongs, had been given to Natasha in her time too.

Clint was a man of choice. She doesn't know who made the decision at SHIELD to bring in Clint, but that choice had forged his life too. Sitting in the window seat of her A380 to Montreal from Paris, she wonders, as she gazes out onto the snowy white clouds. Some men make right calls. Some wrong. But is it really possible for a man who seems so free and happy and focused, to have made those mistakes? She can almost feel her own reality shaking.

It was before she was born, she then realizes. Clint is 44 years old, this all happened before she was even born. And yet, it all still leads back to his actions back then.

So, her decision to go to Chisholm and make sure he's safe, is a choice she made on her own. She needs to know. She had accepted staying out of Clint's head - she'd seen the fears of all the other Avengers, Thor, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff. She had all sent them flying around in Johannesburg, and caused so much chaos. But not Clint. And ever since, she had never tried to pry into his head. But not this time.

This time she had to make sure, by looking into someone else’s head. She hates it. That she has to spy on Clint like that, and that it feels like she doesn't trust his judgement -  which she does. But even Natasha and Steve had given her the green light to go and make sure. Because if they weren't sure… Chisholm would probably be able to send the goons on their way to the farm if he started digging in old memories long enough. And there was no way she was going to let that happen.

As she sits there, wondering about what she needs to figure out, her mind finally allows her to relax, allows her to sleep. The white noise of the plane lulls her to sleep, and the sudden collision with the tarmac at landing shakes her awake.

But by then, Wanda knows. She knows she has to find Chisholm, and that he will tell her what she needs to know about Clint and what she needs to know about this threat.

Natasha has guided her through with a hotel reservation, and Wanda finds it quickly by having a cab drive her from the airport. She doesn't have any checked in luggage, so it goes quickly. The drive itself isn't very eventful, as the quietness of the night seeps through her mind. She sits in the back of the cab, as the elderly driver listens to his nightly radio show. She can see the lights of the city outside her window, glistening in the condensation inside the car. There's a quiet about it that soothes her. The monotony of the radio shows host. The sound of the car.

She makes it to the hotel in one piece. There isn't much to say to it, except that in the morning, she will visit Chisholm. He's in an upstate private clinic, his medical bills taken care of long ago. She will face the former circus artist and find out where he ranks in this case. Until then, she falls face first into her pillow as soon as she makes it to her bed, and let's sleep take her gently into his arms…

* * *

The sound that wakes her isn't loud enough to scare her. She quietly comes to her senses, and it takes a couple of seconds before she realizes where she is. The hotel room hasn't changed, but she realizes it's still night. She hasn't slept for more than a couple of hours, at most, and yet… There it was again. The sound of feather light steps on the grayish carpet.

Before she opens her eyes, she seeks out any unwanted presence in the room. Her mind glows red as she feels the electricity brush her off, and this time, it doesn't bite at her. She just can't make it through to the mind behind it. It's a constant noise. She opens her eyes, and sees him.

He's standing between her and the window, lit up by the street lights, so she can't see the front of him. “What do you want?” she asks, pushing herself upright, leaning on her elbows as she does so. He doesn't move. She can see the grip of the sword sitting on his back, and notices that he doesn't have any weapons in his hands.

“I want to talk,” he finally answers,  as he takes a step back to sit on a cheap knock off of a design chair she doesn't know the name of. She can see the outline of his suit, now, the stripes of yellow blending with the black. She can't even place his scent - he smells of sweat and of something else, something like petrol or oil. There's also another scent, salt and rust, she thinks. Then it dawns upon her that the scent she recognizes is blood. One of them is bleeding, and as far as she knows, none of the pain receptors in her brain have told her to feel pain, so she concludes that it's him who is bleeding. But where?

She goes to turn on the light at her bedside table, but he puts up his hand. “Don't,” he says again, and she doesn't.

“Why have you come here?”

“To tell you about the man you're going to meet.”

He slowly, non violently, lifts his other hand and fidgets with what turns out to be a pocket. He extends his gloved hand to her, and she hesitates to take what he is giving her. She should be careful about it. It might be a trick. But somehow, his calm demeanor let's her know that he isn't out to hurt her. Not the way he'd hurt Natasha. “Why? “ she finally asks, as she takes what he is giving her.

She realizes it's a broken Arrow as soon as her fingers touch the shaft of it. There is not doubt. But why? Is it some sort of sick metaphor for Clint?

“Because, no matter what you see in him, he is a man with a code. Bring the arrow with you. He will understand.”

Strangely, Wanda doesn't feel threatened. He doesn't feel like the same way he did with Natasha, in Monaco. She wonders how he figured out where she would be staying, and how he managed to get into her room without waking her. But she doesn't scream out. She can't even feel her heart beat any faster than what it had been doing as she slept. She tries to get a read on his mind, but she's met with the same static. “Why are you protecting your mind?” she asks.

She can't even read his expression, because the masks hides all. The gloves on his fingers hide any trembling he might have. She can't even make out where he is bleeding, and it annoys her greatly. If he's injured, shouldn't he be seeking some sort of help?

“Because I've had people in it before,” is the reply he decides to give as he stands up again. With the filtered light coming through the window, she sees he is bleeding at the shoulder. There's a metaphor here that she's missing, she thinks. She extends her fingers and they shine red. She catches his hand, as he stands up.

“Who are you?” She's not joking. He can't move away from her, she's got him in her hand, almost literally. She might not be able to read his mind, but she can get him to take off the mask.

“I'm the one they've chosen to execute their plan,” he answers, before he takes a deep breath. She suddenly feels the strain against her powers, as he slowly, slowly moves his fingers. She can feel herself losing his grip on him, and for the first time in a very long time, she's afraid. Nobody had managed to break her grip on them. Nobody. Who is this guy?

But the bigger question is, why? “Why are you doing this?”

The grip on his hand breaks soon enough, and before she can make it out of the bed, he's thrown a small coin like gadget into the room, which fills it with a grey smoke. As soon as she breathes in the strawberry tasting smoke, she can feel her mind clouding and her vision blur. It goes dark before she realizes it, and she falls onto the bed again, still clutching the broken Arrow in her hand.

* * *

“He gave you what?”

Clint takes up the tablet he's holding as Wanda moves out of the picture to grab the arrow head she got during the night. “He gave me this,” she states, as she tries to get the camera to focus on the arrow. Clint frowns.

“That's not one of mine,” is the first thing he says. She nods, recognizing the wooden shaft as not being like the ones Clint uses. This feels old fashioned. It feels old. Very old. “But I think I know whose it is,” he adds, before going out of the picture.

Wanda sits down, playing with the point of the arrowhead. It's still sharp, in spite of what appears to be years without being in use. She can't figure out if it's blood on it, or if it's rust. Probably both. She hasn't dared wash it in fear of both cutting herself and it breaking in her hands. If she were meant to show this to Chisholm, best to leave it like she got it.

She hears ruffling, and a babbling noise, to which Lila's voice replies something about cartoons. And also about a diaper needing to be changed. Clint replies to that comment, but she doesn't understand what he says. She notices that, as soon as he's getting back into the picture, he's wearing a long sleeved shirt. It's not uncommon, and she knows he sleeps in them, but…  It's odd. She doesn't comment on it anyway. “I have the same one,” he finally explains and puts forward an arrow of his own. It's the same fashion, the same wooden shaft.

“Whose arrow is it?” Wanda asks, and she can see Clint rubbing the bridge of his nose, before he sighs.

“It’s Buck’s.”

His hand goes to his shoulder, and she suddenly thinks back to the masked man. To Ronin, as he's apparently called. “How do you know?”

It's a fair question, she thinks. It's not like she knows everything. But then, Clint has put down the arrow on the table in front of the tablet, and he's pulling off the long sleeved shirt. She always wonders how he got most of the scars that mark his body. Before he manages to turn the camera, she sees the slightly blueish burn mark in the center of his chest, right where she knows Loki’s sceptre and the mind stone burnt him. She's seen it before, once. And she knows Nathaniel has the same.

But then, Clint turns the tablet and speaks again. “Because I got shot by Buck when I betrayed him in favor of SHIELD,” he says and shows a scar that looks like it has been caused by something bigger than a bullet. It's on Clint's bad shoulder, and Wanda knows it's because of this injury that he's taking care of his body in a way that insures him to hold on longer.

“He shot me, after I shot Barney with one of his arrows,” he explains, as he absent-mindedly rubs the scar he's talking about. “I hadn't known if was Barney at the time. So, when Buck realized I was going to betray him, or that we were going to betray him,” he corrects, as Laura passes behind him, carrying what appears to be a bucket full of dirty clothes, “he decided to shoot me in the shoulder and leave me for dead.”

“But whose arrow is this, then?” she asks, as she starts playing with it again. She can see the strain on Clint's face.

He looks up, trying to think back to something far away. “It’s gotta be Barney’s,” he finally replies with a sigh. It comes from deep down in his chest. “I gotta check up on him.”

Wanda looks at the arrowhead and wonders. Was this the arrow that Clint shot at Barney, all those years ago? It has to be. “Is there anything else I should know about Buck Chisholm?” she asks.

“No, nothing. He's not bad, you'll see for yourself pretty soon.” There's a hint of a smile on his face, and she can't help herself. How can he think so highly, or at least respect, a man who is responsible for an injury that still bothers him to this day? How can he still think highly of the man who left him for dead? She feels rage in her stomach, and wonders if Clint feels it too, sometimes. He's come to peace with what happened, she concludes, but she hasn't. It's Chisholm’s fault, and he needs to make up for it.

“Talk to you after?” Clint asks, and she nods. “Break a leg, Wanda,” he says as she sees his finger coming for the tablet and pressing the red button on his screen. The connection dies out and she picks up the arrowhead, stroking it with her fingers. She can sense something familiar on it, something that relates to Clint. It must be his brother's, because this presence is strange but familiar all at once. She has never met Barney before. She wonders if she ever will.

* * *

They're arguing. Steve keeps telling Natasha that him coming to the farm is a good idea and that he needs to be there too, when Clint tells them what he knows. Natasha argues that Steve should be looking for Barney, not coming to babysit with her. Steve insists that he also wants to check up on Laura and make sure she's getting better. And if there's anything else he can help with at the farm. Natasha just thinks that he's being invasive. (Not really, but she'd have liked to have Clint for herself, just for a couple of days).

Of course, Steve had called ahead when he'd told Natasha he was coming, so Clint and Laura knew that they would be two coming. The kids knew too, but Cooper had some tests coming up, and he wouldn't be able to be around them very much.

The first thing that Steve notices as they leave the main road to drive down the snow covered dirt road that leads to the Barton Farm, is that they've got a new mailbox. It's a bright red color, and he wonders what happened to the old one. Natasha is the one driving, as she insisted on guiding them to the farm herself.

He sees the trees on the side of the road, knows there's an apple tree in there somewhere, a peach tree and some other fruit trees. They're all bare and naked, since they've had frost already. Everything is covered in a quiet silence, the snow a thick blanket that keeps all the noise out. He notices animal tracks going from one side of the road to the other, wonders what doe made those marks.

He sees the smoke coming out of the chimney before he sees the house. Natasha parks the car next to the barn, and the creaking noise that his boots make when he steps on the snow make him smile. They remind him of good memories, fond memories. Natasha, he knows, likes the snow a bit less. She likes it better here, than in Russia. Here, snow means snow ball fights and snow men.

As they take out their duffel bags from the back seats, the main door opens to reveal Clint in a knitted jumper. His breath condensates, coming out into the cold like this. “Welcome to Winter Wonderland,” Clint greets and Steve smiles. Natasha goes straight for Clint, hugs him briefly before stepping inside so as not to let any more hot air outside. She closes the door behind her, leaving Clint in his slippers, wooly sweater and sweatpants on the porch, with Steve outside.

“I want to show you something,” Clint says first, as he looks over his shoulder, to make sure Natasha doesn't hear or doesn't follow. The kids have probably tackled her to the floor anyway.

Steve’s first reaction when Clint steps out of his slippers and barefoot onto the snow is to shiver. “Shouldn't you be wearing something a bit more isolating?” he asks, and Clint just snorts.

“Nah, I'm fine. I take ice baths after most missions, the cold doesn't bother me,” he says, as he instinctively goes for the spot on his chest. Steve knows that Clint never realizes he does it, and he knows that it makes Natasha and Laura worry about him. Just as Nathaniel never being colder than just above average temperature. The toddler never goes down from 37,5 in temperature, but nobody has raised any issues. “Just leave your bag here, you won't need it.”

Steve follows Clint all the way to the barn. Unhooking the door, Clint pushes it open with his back, allowing Steve to walk in too. Clint let's the door fall shut again, and flips  switch that turns on the light, revealing that Clint has cleaned up the barn. It's not perfect yet, but there's a training room. And then, he notices the table in the back. There's a longbow on it, and as they both step towards it, he notices that there's a note with a hole in it.

“Found this in one of my safe houses a couple of miles out,” Clint explains as he leans on the table. “It was stuck onto the table with an arrow,” he continues as Steve picks it up. “Meant for me, I suppose.”

_ "We know you're hiding. You're hiding from us, like a coward, like you always were. But we'll find you, and we'll kill you. You and all that you hold dear. For old times’ sake. It'll be time for the Amazing Hawkeye to make one last show before it's all over.” _

Underneath, a signature, that says Ronin, confirms what Steve thinks it is. “How long ago was this?”

“Three weeks ago. Right after Petit got kidnapped,” Clint comments, steadily. “Haven't gone to the safe house since.” He looks around the room, and Steve feels the tension that seems to be gone from their Skype sessions. Clint is worried, and he doesn't blame him.

“They're going for me because of what I did. I know the people of Waverly have my back,” he begins, slowly and cautiously, “ever since Natasha released all that information on the Internet they've been incredibly helpful and kept some third parties off me and the farm.” He wets his lips as he points to the longbow.

“One day, a car I didn't know drove up here, and an old man came out holding this bow in his hand.” He stands up and picks it up. Steve notices that he handles it with respect, as you would something on the edge of breaking into a million pieces.

“It's one of the first bows I ever used,” he finally explains. “This elderly man had kept it, all those years, wondering if I'd ever come back. What with New York and Sokovia, he thought I'd need it.” He puts it back down on the table and looks at Steve.

“I'm safe here, and for now. It's just a matter of time before they get to Barney. I trust him with my life, and even though I don't care much for him, if he has to die, I want to be the one to do it.” He rubs the back of his neck, as he looks at the door again. “We've got bad blood between us, but we've got that down.” Pause.

 

“With Laura sick, I can't help you, and I can't move her. Nor the kids. I can't go anywhere, except stay here and keep a low profile. Trusting the people I knew as a kid, which I do. But you gotta find this Ronin guy, you gotta find who he works for, and you have to stop them.” He starts fidgeting, a tell that Steve knows Clint only shows when he is nervous and when it means something for it. “If anything happens to the kids-”

“I understand, Clint. We're doing our best. I promise, nothing is going to happen to you or your kids,” he reassures before there's a knock on the door. It's not loud enough to be Natasha who would have knocked harder than that, and it's not Laura either because she would have knocked five times, like she always does.

Clint walks up to the door and opens it, revealing Lila stuffed in a winter coat that's a little bit too big for her. “Natasha says you need to come over before you freeze to death, and that, and I'm quoting her here, ‘because you've been frozen once before doesn't mean you're immune now, Steven’. Also, mom says dinner is ready.”

Clint nods and moves to the side, flicking the off switch of the lights in the same movement, following Steve out of the barn and locking it. He looks up at the attic, before turning his back to it.

When they make it inside, Steve is met with the delicious smell of bacon, and Clint goes for the kitchen immediately. Laura being sick, and being sick with mononucleosis, means that she shouldn't touch any of the food except what is in her plate, so she hasn't been cooking. Steve is surprised to see that it's Cooper who has been behind the stove. As he steps in, taking off his boots by stepping on the heel of each, one after the other, he hears a slightly off rhythm tapping, coming from the kitchen.

Nathaniel’s head pokes out from the door frame, as he holds himself steady on his chubby legs. “Dada?” the toddler asks, and Steve pulls of the jacket. They've got the heating on here, and he doesn't need any more layers than his shirt. He goes to to the child who beams at him, two fingers in his mouth. He's still teething, but when he smiles again at Steve’s grimace, Steve notices that he's got two teeth showing.

“Hey there, buddy, careful with your fingers now, don't bite down on them,” he says before Nathaniel shrieks, apparently delighted with what he understood of the baby talk. Steve hears a chuckle a looks up,  to see Laura lying in the couch under a flannel patterned plaid.

“It's not the fingers you should be worried about,” she comments as she pushes herself up slightly.

Steve can see she's lost a bit of weight, and that the dark circles under her eyes can rival those Clint gets when he's been on a mission for a long time. “No, no, stay down, it's fine,” he says as he walks over to her and hugs her. He had mono when he was a kid, that he remembers, and he's then immune to at least that. Nathaniel is bouncing up and down on his small legs, looking like he's trying to figure out to go for mommy in the couch or daddy in the kitchen, and when he turns around - a little bit too fast - to apparently head for the kitchen, his feet tangle and he flops down on the ground.

Steve’s immediate reaction is to run to the baby and expect a wail, but Nathaniel sits there for the second it takes Clint to come from the kitchen holding a plate in his hand. He's laughing, slightly forced, but it has the intended effect. “Badaboom, little fellow. Alright, let's get you back up.”

Clint bends forward and smiles at the kid who doesn't seem phased with the fact that he literally bounced into the wall and hit his head on it. He trails off into the kitchen, where Lila catches him before he makes it to the hot oven. Clint looks at Steve, who is staring. “It's not nice to stare,” he comments.

Steve blinks, realizes Clint and Laura are exchanging a glance and he smiles. “Don't babies usually cry when they walk into a wall?”

"Only babies who have learnt to associate the pain of impact with a mommy and a daddy asking if everything is alright and looking worried,” Natasha's voice explains, as she comes out of the kitchen carrying Nathaniel in her arms. Clint chuckles as he rolls his eyes.

“We've done this with the two others, not to show worry when they hurt themselves like that. If they don't learn that pain means worry as kids, they don't start crying when they hurt themselves. In a not urgent way,” he comments, and Cooper chuckles from the kitchen.

“Not like the time he got his fingers stuck in the bin and instead of opening it with his other hand, he kept pushing it down?” Pointing to his oldest son, Clint nods.

“Not like that.” Nathaniel's feet wiggle at Natasha's belly, and she laughs. There's much to take care of, Steve inevitably notices, and he suddenly feels guilt at ever thinking Clint was selfish to stay and help. Just the three kids to keep track of, and Laura who looks more pale than she ever has. Clint needs their help more than ever.

The echo of the letter Clint had showed him rings in Steve’s ears, and suddenly a sense of urgency falls on him.

As Clint walks back into the kitchen, Natasha comes over and hands over Nathaniel without asking if Steve is alright with it. He takes the baby in his arms and the mischievous smile that the toddler suddenly has reassures him that at least, he won't start crying soon. The two assassins come out of the kitchen carrying plates and cutlery, and set up the table. Walking to the door to the kitchen, Steve leans against it.

“What are we having?” he asks, and Cooper looks up from the dish he's been taking care of.

“Tenderloin made in the oven, with bacon around it and potatoes,” he replies, curtly, concentrated on cutting the meat evenly. There's three tenderloins, Steve sees, and he makes a headcount. Him, Natasha, Clint, Laura, Cooper, Lila and Nathaniel. That makes a lot of food. (Even though Nathaniel can't eat it, he still sits with them at the table).

(He provides evening entertainment throughout the meal, which takes off the weight of their mission of Steve’s shoulders. When he puts his hands in his yoghurt, Clint gets up and takes him out of his high chair, by which he is met with screams, before getting the little one up to bed).

* * *

She can feel him before she enters the room. She can feel the calm, and knows it comes from the medication he's taking.

Wanda stands behind the closed door to Buck Chisholm’s hospital room for just a couple of seconds, to take in his presence. He's old, she can feel it. Has seen a lot. Can feel that too. When she knocks, he replies immediately.

“Piss off,” is what she is greeted by when she opens the door. It's not exactly what she was expecting, but she comes into the room anyway. He's sitting with his back to the door, a computer on his lap. She notices he's watching an archery competition. Wonders which one.

“Hi,” she says, and he looks up at her. He looks up and down her, before he rolls his eyes.

“I don't want to talk to you,” he adds, in an accent that Wanda can only associate with the old cowboy movies they used to show sometimes in Sokovia.

She takes a deep breath and takes a step into the room after having closed the door. She doesn't say anything, simply takes out the arrow from the bag she's been carrying and puts it down on the laptop’s keyboard. His hands stop fidgeting, and he picks it up, delicately. The same way she had.

“Who are you? Where did you get this?”

She lowers herself, to be at his level and as he looks at her, she looks into him. “My name is Wanda Maximoff,” she starts, but he bursts out laughing before she can say anything else.

“I don't want someone to read my future, I know I'm going to rot in here. If you're looking for someone to con, young lady, I'm not buying your ‘I'm from Russia’ act. Where did you get this arrow?” he asks again, and this time, it's ice. He's not amused, that much she can see.

But she's pissed off now. Not because of what he said, but because of how he thought of her. She is not some cheap east European palm reading crystal speaking witch. She extends her hand, and it glows red, before she feels the contact between her mind and his mind.

It shuts him up. She goes through the first memories that come to her, days spent here. Changing clothes, shower, and she digs deeper. Opening each door with a twist of her wrist and fingers, going deeper and deeper again, trying to find anything she can use. Clint's face shows up, in one of the more recent memories, no less than some months ago. She skips through it quickly, looking for anything that might mean something.

When she doesn't, she pulls back, closing the doors, but not locking them. “I am the Scarlet Witch,” she says, and he nods.

“Clint told me about you,” he answers. “Said you were good.” He looks down at the arrow.

“This one's the one he shot Barney with. How come you have it?”

She doesn't know how to answer it. She looks at it, as her mind races, trying to find an answer to his question.

“Someone gave it to you, didn't they?” he finally says, and it breaks her train of thought. She nods.

“Yes. The masked man.”

He pauses, looks up from his hand. There's a drip sitting on his hand, and she wonders what sort of medication he takes. Clint has told her, he has cancer. She can almost feel his body fighting off the sick cells, trying to get better. But she knows that eventually, he is going to have to let go. There's something that keeps him going, though. And somehow, she thinks that it has to do with Clint. It all has, hasn't it?

“It's not a man. It's an idea,” Buck says, as he smiles to himself. The kind of smile that betrays a secret that he shares with the past, something that he understands and that others probably do too. But Wanda doesn't. So she let's him speak. “It's an idea of sending someone after Justice. To right a wrong.” He chokes on his words, and Wanda searches the room for a glass of water. There is none, but he puts up his hand to steady her.

“It's quite alright,” he says, before continuing, “Behind the mask, it's not one person. It's many. Through time, Ronin remains faceless. He comes and goes. She comes and goes. Ronin doesn't care if you're a man or a woman. If they summon the mask, they don't care.” He smiles at himself.

“Maya Lopez was the first, you know.” He nods to himself, and she pokes into his head. A dusty memory of a young girl wearing a smile brushes against her consciousness, before she fades away again. There's a memory of a shadow, sitting in the rafts of the circus tent. “Others, others… “ He pauses again.

“They're going after Clint, aren't they?” he suddenly asks, and Wanda nods again.

“They have taken money and Petit, and Jacques Duquesne is working with The Circus of Wonder to-”

“Hah!” He starts laughing out loud at her words, and she frowns, before he gives an answer. “Circus of wonder my ass. It's just the merge of a good circus and a bad circus, there's nothing wonderful with that.” He rolls his eyes. “They're thieves and murderers, all of them.” He focuses on Wanda with a tender smile. “I know you're looking inside my head. You're looking at my memories. I did bad things, very bad things too.”

He points to the arrow. “I killed people and I almost killed the one kid that changed my life for the better.” She suddenly sees a young face in his memories, and she recognizes Clint. He looks so young, so frail. So fragile. He's got bruises on his face and he looks so tiny. Malnourished. Hurt. And then, a newer memory makes it way through as Buck forces it forward, with Clint's last visit.

“He was always good. He killed because we told him to, never because he wanted to,” Buck starts, as he picks up the arrow. There's an untold story there, she wonders. “When he left, after her rigged our job, with an arrow in his shoulder, I thought I was never going to see him again.” He purses his lips as he takes hold of the sharp arrow, and without even as much as flinching, he cuts himself in the palm with it.

“Still sharp, huh…” She doesn't move. Doesn't dare to interrupt him. “No, I'm not in it with them. Look inside my head, they wouldn't come for me. What would I do for them, sitting here? Rotting up in a facility like this? No, the real person you have to go to is the one who knows of Ronin. The one who set it all up. You go to Duquesne. You find him, and you break his mind.”

He suddenly launches himself forward, putting out his bloody hand and touching Wanda’s face. She flinches backwards, as he starts laughing. “You break that bastard in half and bring me his head.”

He spits onto the floor, and she sees rage in his eyes. There's something there. No, Clint was right. Buck Chisholm is on their side. Not because he cares for Clint particularly, but because he hates Duquesne enough to side with Clint.

* * *

The kids are all asleep now. Laura has gone upstairs too, she needs to rest. That leaves Clint, Natasha and Steve sitting at the dining table, with files spread out across it. They've been looking at connections for the past half hour, pointing out on maps where last sightings have been.

The red dot however, hovers endlessly and marks the one variable that Steve is truly worried about. Barney Barton is nowhere to be found. Clint has heard from him recently, but there's nothing to pinpoint his location. No way to make contact. And that bothers Steve immensely.

They've managed to put down Duquesne in Hell’s Kitchen when he was last sighted, so that means they've come back overseas.

“Chisholm identified the arrow as the one you used to shoot Barney with,” Steve clears. “SO that means that they've either gotten to Barney or he's working with them. What do we know about this Ronin guy?” he then asks, and Clint pulls forward an old circus poster from his own time there.

“That's him, or her. Wanda said that it's not necessarily a man or a woman-”

“It was definitely a man last I checked,” Natasha mutters and Clint sighs.

“Alright, it's him. But we don't know exactly who's underneath that mask. Before we can make any move, we have to figure it out. That's our top priority right no-”

He doesn't finish his sentence, because that's the moment where Steve's phone rings. Natasha knows the tone, and Clint has heard it before. It's the tone he has for when someone is trying to break into the New Avengers facility. Falcon and War Machine are too far out, they're all the way across the pond.

“Steve, you go. I'll stay here with Clint,” Natasha hurries, and she gets up immediately to get her own tablet.

Moving around each other in a closely coordinated dance, Steve manages to pick up his duffel, swing it across his shoulder, but before he knows it, Clint's got car keys in his hand. “I'll drive you to the airport, Natasha you stay here. Book a flight for Steve on the first commercial flight out so that he's ready to check in, see if you can get Stark to commandeer one of the flights to his advantage if he has to.”

The next couple of minutes pass in a rush, and next thing Steve knows, he's sitting in Clint's SUV, on the passenger side, speeding up the road. It was the only vehicle equipped with snow chains. Which means it was the only one able to make it this fast on the roads.

“Nobody's there to check up?” Clint asks, as he focuses on the road in the headlights of the truck. He has an extra headlight which lights up a bit further, and also to the sides. It would be stupid of them to hit a deer at this speed and especially at this time, so he hasn't taken any risk. Steve knows there's a gun in the glove compartment and that there are probably more weapons hidden around.

He sighs. “No, nobody there. Wanda is still in Canada, so she can't make it there before me.” His phone buzzes the moment he finishes the sentence. Clint quickly glances at the screen, and sees Natasha. Steve replies, before pressing the speaker button.

“What have you got?”

“You're on a flight out in three hours’ time, but I also got this from the security footage at the facility,” she says, as Steve holds out the phone which displays an incoming picture file. As it downloads - not the best coverage out here -  the silhouette of Ronin becomes clearer, sitting in what usually is Clint's room. He isn't moving.

“Is this live?” Clint asks, as he avoids a slippery patch on the road, pressing the pedal even further down.

“Yup, it's live. He's there, and it looks like he's going to be waiting for someone to come and find him,” Natasha says. There's some typing as she speaks, and another picture comes up, this time a screenshot. “He came in through the back door, but I can't see how he did it yet.”

“Alright, thanks Natasha,” Steve says as he hangs up and clutches the phone. “Barton, if there's anything you want to tell me, now's the right time to do so. You told be about the letter. Is there anything else I should know, about you or about your brother?”

Clint's knuckles turn white as he grips the wheel even harder. “My stupid idiot of a brother gets himself to a lot of messes, but he isn't in this mess,” he says. “We promised that if we had to die, we'd kill each other. If he wanted me dead, he'd have come to the farm and done it. Not all these ghosts and masquerades. That stinks of the circus.”

He let's go of the wheel with one hand and opens up the compartment underneath the radio, pulling out a wallet. “That's the last information I have on him,” he says, as he flicks it open, while still keeping an eye on the road. “He's been in Arkansas for a while,  I don't know what he's been doing there, but he's been there a while.” He hands it to Steve.

“I'd go with you, but dropping you off at the airport is the farthest I'm willing to go,” he finally says and Steve nods, understanding.

“Natasha will keep them safe,” but it's not a big success.

“I know, but I need to be there for them.”

They drive the rest of the way in silence, as Steve flicks through the location details Clint has just handed him.

When Clint turns on the indicator to turn right into the airports parking lot, he looks at Steve quickly. “Be careful with this guy, Steve,” he pauses,  as he reaches the quick deposit parking. “He almost cut Natasha in half.”

“Don't worry Barton, I can handle a couple of knives,” Steve muses as he gets out of the car. They don't waste any time saying goodbye, and when Steve reaches the other side of the road, Clint has already sped out of the parking lot. He can see the headlights leaving again. The drive was 45 minutes, and if he knows Clint well, it'll be an even shorter ride home. Clint's the best driver there is, both in a car and in a jet, and he doesn't doubt that in this situation, the archer will do all he can to be back with his family.

If Ronin is at the New Avengers facility, it means he's inching closer. Quietly, but surely.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How did you like it? I really hope you liked it and that you're looking forward for the next part, because it's about to get pretty intense.  
> As always, you can come knock onto my inbox on tumblr or go to my tag for this fic, (tagged/nano15 or tagged/sys) which I'll try to keep updated. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked it. (Even if it's anonymous, I don't care. Tell me which part was your favorite part. Your least favorite. Which part made you cringe or made you worried. Tell me everything).


	3. The Pledge - Phase III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The New Avengers' first encounter with the masked Ronin left Natasha with deep cuts that are still healing. When they get word that he's waiting for one of them in their headquarters, Steve Rogers decides to fly out and greet him. But how will it go? They're all dancing on an edge to protect Clint Barton's life from his past, and it seems that it's creeping onto them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I COULD NOT RESIST UPDATING. I'm sorry.
> 
> Your comments make my day every single time, and I'm so excited. This fic has become a monster of its own, and I seem to be unable to stop myself from writing so much on it, so I'm just hoping you'll keep enjoying it as it progresses. It's about to become a bigger plot than I intended, but that's just fun, right?
> 
> Any mistakes and typos are my own as this is my NaNoWriMo, so no editing has been put into this work. Enjoy it!

The thing that makes him nervous isn't the fact that it's quiet. It's stupidly quiet because it's still too early in the morning for anyone to have come in yet. It's the fact that Natasha has been keeping him up to date with the position of the masked man.

He hasn't moved. Not an inch. He's been sitting in Clint's attributed room, and hasn't moved a single inch. He's waiting, she says. Waiting for someone to come and give him what he wants -  which, as far as they are all concerned, is Clint.

Steve walks into the building from the front, wearing his stealth suit. He's changed on the way, making sure to be prepared. Natasha couldn't see any more intruders, so this Ronin is truly alone here. There's something strangely eerie about knowing that someone has been waiting for you for so many hours. Steve has seen people wait in waiting rooms. He's seen them wait for a call and for news. But not for this.

This, he feels, is going to be a pivotal moment. If this person, under the mask, is confident enough to wait for him here, in his own environment, there's definitely a new thing they need to add to the Intel on the guy: pride and confidence.

When he steps into the corridor, the silence and quiet that meet him feel like a choke hold. He knows Clint's room is the third door on the left, and just moving past the four first doors unnerves him. He is as quiet as he can, but instead of opening the door while hiding behind the wall, he stands up straight in front of it.

Just as he thought, as he pushes it open, Ronin doesn't jump to his feet to attack. He simply looks up from the sword he's been endlessly cleaning and sharpening while waiting. There's something absolutely terrifying about the white eyes the mask has, because Steve feels as if he is looking right into his soul. But he doesn't let it show.

“Do you want to do this here?” he offers.

Ronin stands up, slowly, without any sudden movement, and he shakes his head. “No.”

It's a real sign of courage when Steve turns his back to the masked man and starts walking away. Fighting there would be useless. He'll lead Ronin to the training room, where he spars and fights with the rest of the team. There are perches up above, where Clint likes to stay to keep an eye on the training, there are weapons hidden all around the room, so that Falcon and War Machine can take advantage of their flight skills, and Wanda has her mind powers to play with. Vision sometimes takes a part of their training sessions, but not recently. He's been gone to another realm.

The silence follows them as they quietly walk past closed doors. They meet the first early bird, a young officer who suddenly reaches for his phone to do something. Steve motions for him to put it down and shakes his head. This is between him and the shadow behind him.

He'd looked up the name Ronin on the Internet and on SHIELD's files. Nothing showed, except that it had been used before.

Steve never looks over his shoulder. He doesn't have to, because he knows that Ronin will follow him until he stops.

Ronin stops up at the same time, and Steve turns around. There's something so unnerving about the whole thing. His heart is racing in anticipation -  no, not fear. He isn't afraid. But there's this feeling that this unknown ghost knows more about them than anyone. And Steve doesn't like it. Not in the least.

“No dirty tricks,” he says, to what Ronin nods.

“No dirty tricks,” Ronin repeats.

Steve pulls off his shield from his back as Ronin pulls out the sword he'd set away in its sheath. They look at each other for a couple of seconds, taking in the calm before the storm. And, as always, Steve waits for the other to make the first offensive strike.

The sound of metal against metal echoes through the silence, and they move apart again. He suddenly feels a sharp pain on his calf, and as he looks down, he sees that something has cut through the fabric and through his skin. How?

Ronin stands there, quiet, form perfect. There's a quiet professionalism to him, and Steve admires it. It's Ronin first to go, again, and this time, Steve manages to counter the attack by an offensive move that sends the sword flying in its own momentum, missing the target. Ronin is quick on his feet, and dances around Steve in an almost graceful move, before lifting the sword in one hand, making it sing through the air as he suddenly takes the offensive up a notch.

The sword hits Steve’s shield again, and again, and again, and Steve has to think for a way to break this pattern before Ronin pushes him up against the wall, so he follows the shield down the next time the sword hits it, turns on his feet, and kicks out one of Ronin’s legs, making him stumble.

What Ronin does next Steve doesn't really understand until a couple of seconds later. Ronin rolls up, around, hand extended to avoid hitting the sword on the ground and takes a pose that reminds Steve of Natasha the way she goes down on her feet, keeping her balance steady with a hand on the floor too. It's a familiar movement, and he can't quite place it.

Then, there's another noise, and the light bounces off another knife that Ronin has suddenly produced from somewhere on his body. Now armed with two sharp devices, Ronin stays down and looks around, looking for a vantage point. Steve uses the distraction to try and use the refraction of the light on his shield to blind the other man, but while they're both doing their thing, they move away from each other.

Steve follows Ronin, steadily across the room, as the Ninja like ghost jumps up, rolls down again, trying to get up and away from him. Again, the fight choreography looks familiar, but Steve can't place it. Suddenly, Ronin finds a lose object and throws it at Steve who barely avoids it, using the shield to deflect it from him. The short second it took him to do that, Ronin has jumped down from the steps and is at his side.

“No dirty tricks,” he repeats, and Steve feels a sharp pain at his side. He can feel the warmth of Ronin against him, the man behind the mask sweating in the heavy costuming. There isn't a lack of breath, however, which betrays a good physical condition. Ronin moves away, letting go of Steve’s shoulder with one last twist of the knife he's managed to land in between two of Steve’s ribs, and turns the bigger sword in his hand, proudly.

Pulling out the knife from his body, Steve let's it fall to the floor with a clinking sound, and smiles. “That all you got? Cheap tricks and a cheesy one liner?” he asks, and Ronin runs up towards the wall, using it to throw himself upwards, turning in the air and hitting Steve in the face with the pommel of the sword.

Steve goes flying, his head swimming with the shock. He lands a couple of feet away, his shield still at his side. Ronin comes up, kicks the shield away with his foot and kneels. He puts his sword away. Steve has a hand steadily held against the wound at his side, but Ronin isn't done just yet. He pulls out another knife, smaller, sharper, pointier, and cuts the leather straps that secure Steve’s helmet. Steve tries to fight him off, but Ronin just catches the free arm in a tight grip.

“Shhhh,” He plays with the knife in his fingers, and Steve thinks that it looks very similar to what Clint does with a chopstick. Or an arrow.

And, as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Ronin quickly pushes the thin knife down, into Steve’s chest. The precision of the motion makes Steve groan, because the edge of the knife has just made it under his shoulder blade, and is pressing against the bone.

“Tell Barton this,” Ronin says as he twists the knife, still holding Steve’s hand firmly in place, “he needs to stop hiding. Or I'll go through all of you to get to him.”

He lets go of Steve’s hand and with a closed fist hits the knife again, as if his fist were a hammer and the knife a nail. This time, it breaks through the bone, and the pain burns through Steve’s mind.

With a flick of his wrist, Ronin produces one of the small coin like objects he'd already used on Wanda, and disappears as soon as the strawberry smell spreads in the training room, leaving Steve to his beauty and bloody sleep…

* * *

“It was Ronin, he got to Cap” Sam states as soon as he gets off the phone with Natasha, dialling James’ number immediately after.

“How?” There isn’t time to ask around, and James is currently over the Atlantic Ocean, heading back to the United States.

He’d taken the long way back, because of the urgency - having to go through any airport took too long, and he could ask for immediate authorization directly through his coms. He crossed over Icelandic airspace, in case he needed an emergency landing, and then headed up northbound, to avoid the Earth’s shape. He would reach the southernmost point of Greenland within a couple of hours.

“We don’t know yet.” James can see the files Natasha has uploaded to the War Machine armor. “He walked in there like he had a key, and nobody knows where he got it from. Went straight to Barton’s barrack and stayed there until Cap made it to him.”

There's a pause. “If any other SHIELD trainee had walked in on him, it's possible that there might have been casualties. This guy managed to scrape Natasha up in Monaco, and now even Steve.”

"I hear what you're saying Sam,” James starts as he redirects his itinerary according to the meteorological readings he's getting on his in-flight computer, “He's getting closer to finding Barton.”

They've all been thinking - James knows that. The more they communicate with Barton, the more they're putting him at risk. What if Ronin had set up any virus while being in the facility? What if he's done anything that supposedly compromises Barton and his home?

So far they've only mentioned a new plan, something that none of them like. It's a quiet flight, but his mind races. They've talked of having only Natasha go to and from the farm, maybe even sending her there permanently. It's not that they don't trust Clint to defend himself and his family, but as far as they're concerned, Ronin just managed to send Steve into medical for a while. He broke Steve’s shoulder, for fuck's sake. And the knife he almost surgically inserted between Steve’s ribs? It had come ridiculously close to the border of the sternum - close enough to just graze the ventricles. If the knife had gone in at just a slightly different angle, it might have cut the two ventricles in one snap.

This guy was a professional, and it worried all of them. “What has he suggested?” James asks, as he readjusts the temperature in the suit to keep him from freezing. He can feel the cold hit him from outside, at this time of year and of night, it's below freezing point.

“Who, Barton?” Sam asks back, and James nods,  even though he knows perfectly well nobody can see him.

“Yeah, him.” It seems like the fairest thing to ask, get his opinion. He's probably got more weapons than they think stacked at his farm, but it's still a dangerous thing. If it were up to James, they'd move them to a safe house. That's always the best thing to do -  move the targets and make sure nobody goes in, or out.

But that's how the military works. Clint is a former SHIELD agent, and a better professional than James has ever seen. He knows that he works differently than the military, and that if it comes down to it, Clint will suggest moving the family to a safe house on his own.

There's some paper ruffling on the other end of the line, and James flicks his fingers several times to keep them from growing too cold. The heat is concentrated on his body.

“He says to wait it out. They're still looking for him, which means they're still just bluffing. It's a game of truth and dare, and he's willing to risk it all.”

And, James knows, as far as Clint knows, there are no records of the house, nor of his marriage anywhere. It's all compartmentalized, courtesy of Nick Fury himself. If he's going to go down, it seems, Clint will go down hard.

“He also said that this mess is equally his and Laura’s, since she was there too, all those years ago, when it happened, ” Sam continues, having stopped going through the papers.

James keeps quiet, as he thinks. What about Cap? Natasha had healed more or less, but the deepest cuts were still held together by stitches that she had to change every now and then. With Steve currently held in medical, with Sam by his side in case Ronin decided to come back… It leaves Wanda and him to take care of the flights if there's anything new that comes up. “I still don't understand why they took Petit, or where they took him,” he says and he hears Sam chuckling.

“Me neither, but believe me, there are a lot of things with this underworld that don't make any sense to me.”

* * *

Sam walks into Steve’s room as soon as he gets a word of the agents responsible for the security. “Load security file 56 Alpha Tango Zulu,” he says, as Steve puts down the file he'd been reading.

“We've got a guest,” Sam states as the screen loads the footage, live feed from a security camera giving out on the parking lot of the facility. It's a dirty old car, but he recognizes immediately.

The guest himself has his back turned to the camera, which isn't a surprise to Sam. “Go back to instant T at 8 am and seventeen minutes,” he orders the AI, which does exactly that. It rewinds the security footage all the way to half an hour ago, until the arrival of the new person.

“Zoom in and identify guest,” Sam states, and Steve frowns as the camera zooms in. His first guess is that it's Clint, but he's still in Iowa, with his family, has been there since he left them in a rush. And then, as the facial recognition software runs through their database and finds a match, it dawns upon him why he thought it was Clint. They have the same noses and the same square shoulders, but they're not the same.

“Subject name, Barton, Charles Bernard,” the computer replies. Sam mutes it and turns to face Steve.

“Clint doesn't know about this, and he doesn't know that Barney is in the State. He's come here on his own.”

Clint's older brother hasn't made a noise since he gave them the name of the masked man - he contacted Clint to let him know that the Circus of Wonders were out for blood, and he hasn't been seen anywhere since, well, Alaska. Where he had been found in a HYDRA base, apparently working with them. (He had, at that point in time, insisted on the difference between working with and for someone, and he had pointed out he was working with them, but not for them).

Clint had stopped them from taking him in because he had understood that phrase, and asked them to stand down. His brother wasn't going to be a threat. And, if Clint's word was anything to go by, Barney wasn't going to be a threat now either.

“Let him in,” Steve finally says, and Sam holds his breath before he speaks, thinking about what he's about to say before he says it.

He's not sure it's his place. “You sure? I mean, none of us have heard or seen him in a long time, and he might be double bluffing all of us.” Steve's eyes shift from the screen to Sam, and he nods.

“I'm sure, let him in. I can handle a con man,” he says with a smile. His body his healing faster than any normal person, but Sam can't help but have the normal reaction to someone who has just been stabbed - Steve shouldn't be doing this. But Steve just insists that this mission could lead to a disaster if they take a break, so he keeps on doing research.

Sam walks back out of the room, and when he comes back, it's with Barney Barton in tow.

* * *

“Sam, stay outside the door. If anything happens, you come back inside. Until then, I want to talk to him alone,” Steve says as they make it into the room. Barney stands to the side, looking at the room with the same eyes that Clint has. These are a bit different, deeper, darker, closer to the edge of evil than those of his younger brother. But Steve can definitely see that they're related. The entire way he holds his body. The way his eyes stay on the door, even though Sam has already closed it and that they're on their own.

Steve doesn't doubt for one second that Barney has already figured out that there are two other ways of exiting the room if he needs to make a run for it - through the window, and run across the yard to the parking lot and drive off. They're on the ground floor, so he wouldn't even have to jump from very high. The second option, as Steve knows, is through the air vent. It's big enough to fit a grown man, because it had been built that way as an escape plan if some of their internal staff should turn out to be HYDRA. Not everyone knows this, but a man like Barney Barton knows. Just like Clint always knows things that nobody else should know.

“I'm not stupid,” Steve starts, and Barney smiles. “I know you're not here to give input on the situation at hand,” he finishes, and Barney turns his back to Steve.

Whether that is a blatant sign of courage or of disrespect, Steve doesn't actually know. However, he chooses not to comment on it. “I'm here because it seems that my chicken butt of a brother is on the receiving end of death threats,” Barney states as he plucks at the wires to some of the computers, trying to investigate which wires lead where.

He turns around quick on his heels, which surprises Steve. He doesn't look as agile as he actually is. So the two escape options remain open. “And because I know that Ronin isn't working for Duquesne.” Barney's smile widens as Steve's frown deepens.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me right, Cap’n,” Barney replies, nonchalantly. “It ain't Duquesne pulling the strings here. Suppose the little red witch found out it's not Chisholm either,” and Steve nods. How he knows that Wanda had gone to check up on Chisholm remains a question for another time. “Which leaves two options: either it's me, which, to be honest is a very good and valid theory, if I may say so myself, or it's another party, who has decided to do the dirty job for them.”

He goes to the table on the other side of the room, and starts going through the drawers, apparently looking for something. If he was avoiding Steve’s gaze, it was working very well.

“Suppose you're not the one giving out the orders, why would you come and help? You seem to be well connected enough to actually be able to end this” Steve says, his jaw tight. He doesn't like it, Barney is too much like the treacherous kind. He respects him because he is Clint's brother, but if it were up to him, he'd treat him like any other suspect. Which he should. But Clint's word about Chisholm was right, and if anything was true between the two Barton brothers, then he was probably right about Barney too.

Barney chuckles. “Well, let's see. I'm not particularly fond of someone trying to kill my baby brother for me,” he starts, as he finds a pen in the drawer, He walks up to Steve and snatches a piece of paper from him. He doesn't take the time to read what's on there -  mission report - before he starts writing on it.

Steve stays quiet as he watches Barney write. He takes the time to try and remember him in the best possible way - the way he holds himself is so different and yet so similar to Clint. There's the nose, definitely the same, but the hair is brown, almost red. If there was a better light, he'd probably look almost like a redhead. No wonder Nathaniel's hair is as red as it is. Must have been from one of the parents, then.

Barney flicks the paper towards him, and Steve catches it with a quick reflex before it falls to the floor. “You know, you're not exactly in the numbers to be playing smart,” Steve warns, but Barney just shrugs and sits down in one of the guest chairs, as if he owns the place.

He looks around for something, and when his eyes settled on the Apple on Steve’s desk, he reaches for it and bites into it. “I know, I also happen to know that you need me out there doing dirty work for you and for Clint, so you're not going to keep me here. Even though you have been thinking about the possibility of keeping me here because I could technically be the end game, but you're not going to do that.” He pauses, as he chews on the Apple, allowing Steve to look down at the paper.

He can still feel the pain throbbed at his side, and he wonders why Ronin didn't go for something more vital. He cut Natasha's throat slightly when he had her. Alright, that had been because Falcon had suddenly come out from nowhere, but still. He reads the chicken scratch writing and has to admit, he's impressed.

“Not bad. The question is, what did he have to tell you?” he asks, as he looks up. It's a name, and an explanation - Barney has figured out who Ronin’s goon in Monaco was, and that's a better lead than they've had in days. The name doesn't mean anything to Steve who just shrugs it off -  there are probably a lot of Eliot Franklins in the world, and enough to make it impossible to track him down. He doesn't dismiss the information, though, and keeps the paper close by.

“Not much.” He pauses, biting into the apple again. Steve can feel his frustration growing. This isn't the kind of Intel he'd expected, but then again he hadn't expected for Clint's older brother to be such an ass. To think that this specimen in front of him had once been the prime of the Federal Bureau of Investigation - well. It makes him wonder just how far Clint could fall if he ever decided to go down the wrong path.

(Steve still remembers reading the mission debrief that he'd gotten together right after Loki. Clint had been the one to find goons and AIM agents for Loki. Clint had been the one to elaborate the plan in Germany. Clint had been the one to get Loki out of the Helicarrier before getting it to crash. Clint had been the center of the plan, and it still made Steve’s skin crawl to think of what Hawkeye was capable of doing.)

“You do realize that I can keep you here until you decide to stop acting like there are no consequences here,” Steve frustratingly says as Barney still refuses to give him the information he's apparently come here to share.

The older Barton just snorts. He's amused, which doesn't help on Steve’s sour mood. “Well, do that. Or you know what, how about you quarantine me at the farm, with my baby brother. You gotta use your Black Widow for something better than babysitting him, and believe me, I can protect him as well as her.”

As if to prove his worth, he suddenly produces the pen he'd kept on his body and throws it at Steve. It happens too fast for Steve to flinch, but the pen embed itself in the wall behind Steve, right next to his ear. He can hear the whistle echoing in his ear. He pushes himself forward, turns, groans because of the strain on the stitches in his side, and pulls out the pen. With a flick of his finger, he sends it back at Barney.

“You gave me a name. Anything more you want to say before I kick you out of here?”

Barney shrugs, again. He definitely doesn't seem to care. Or else, he's too tired of life to give a fuck. “Nope. Except that you need to look to Canada again,” he starts as he gets up. “For Petit, and for your long lost friend.” The smile that creeps onto Barney's face is all but kind, it's a creepy smile and an all knowing smile.

“I hear Fredericton is very nice this time of year,” Barney states as he readjusts the leather jacket on his shoulders. “Maybe you'll find two ghosts when you go there.”

And with that, he pushes the door open with a bang. Steve hears Sam's “what the fuck!” before he hears Barney walking down the corridor.

Sam's head pops into the room, worried and annoyed at the same time. “What a stubborn ass,” he comments, and Steve nods.

“I understand where Clint gets his temper, now,” he jokes before looking at the paper Barney's given him.

He sighs before he looks up at Sam, who's crossed his arms, looking at the half eaten apple Barney left behind. “So, how do you feel about a trip to Canada this time of year?”

* * *

She's stayed behind to give Clint safety. She knows that he needs it, since the threat is directly aimed at him, and she knows that he wants her there. But there's this unspoken rule that she cannot be at the farm while Barney is there.

When he had arrived, driving that crappy 1967 Camaro up the dirt road which Clint had cleared three days ago, she'd known. Time to go back to the world. It's not because they can't be good around each other - it works when the kids are there and when they're there to be a family and to be friends.

But in this scenario, they both want different things for Clint, and she knows very well that both herself and Clint know, it's best for her to go. Barney just showed up from the middle of nowhere to be with Clint in case anything were to happen, so she'd better go back to New York and take care of the team. Wanda was initially supposed to make it back too, but she redirected to Fredericton to wait for Sam, who'd make it there in two days’ time.

“Say hi to Steve from me,” Clint says as he opens the passenger's side window of the four wheel drive. He's dropping her off in the same place he dropped Steve off a couple of days earlier. “Tell him that I'll keep Barney off his property,” he half heartedly jokes. There's isn't much to say, other than that if Barney has decided to come out of hiding to provide some sort of protection, things are bad.

Maybe he should take up War Machine's protection offer. It might be the safest way to ride this storm out, but then again, he knows the farm is so far off the grid that they'll never find him. That's what Natasha thinks anyway. She smiles at him. “I'll say hi to all of them, just try to not kill each other while we're actively trying to not get you killed,” she answers back, and he rolls his eyes.

As she moves away from the car, Clint keeps watching her all the way, right up until she makes it past the automatic doors.

He's not sure what happens next, but he knows that they're going to have to do something. Phase II has just ended, he muses, as he turns on the engine again, and heads back home.

Time to see how the rest of the team take Phase III.

* * *

It takes him about twenty seconds from the moment they’re alone til the moment he breaks and asks. “Nat, I need to talk to you about something,” is what he goes with, when he moves to the side and pulls out his tablet.

“What is it?” she asks, seemingly worried. When Steve Rogers says that he needs to talk to her about something, it usually isn’t a good sign. And, when he unlocks the tablet and finds a section of the video footage from the training room from the night where he fought Ronin, she knows that there’s something specific he wants to ask.

He rewinds the footage precisely enough to have it start right before his fight with Ronin starts. She takes the tablet from him to get a better view of the screen, and she tries to figure out what it is he wants her to see.

They fight, Steve gets stabbed the first time, then cut several times. And then, she sees it, but Steve emphasizes it by putting his finger down on the knife that Ronin is twisting in his fingers. “That’s something Clint does,” Steve says, as the video goes on. Natasha can’t help it, she doesn’t look away when Ronin hammers the knife into Steve’s side.

And just like that, Ronin is gone again, leaving Steve on the floor and bleeding out.

Steve takes the tablet from her and she frowns. “I hardly think that Clint would be the kind to dress up as a clown in a ninja suit and throw knives at us,” she and, sarcastic, as she motions to the still healing scab she has on her throat from where the knife had cut through the skin, back in Monaco.

“I’m not saying it’s him, I’m just saying that-”

“You’re saying it’s a possibility,” she interrupts, and he looks up from the tablet. He is very well aware that she has been hurt by Ronin too, a knife to her throat, the same way he got a knife inserted between his ribs.

“Either that or you're saying you don't trust Barton,” she then says and glares at him. “He's been right in all that he's said about this so far, and I hardly think that he would dress up and leave the farm on its own. Laura is sick, they've got a toddler to take care of and kids to get to and from school.”

Steve shakes his head. “I trust him,” he starts, taking a pause and pointing at the picture of Petit on the file that they've been keeping close tabs on. “Natasha, you have to consider the possibility that this is bigger than Clint and that you've got to think on a bigger scale.” He looks at her, and during the few moments where their eyes interlock, he can't help but see why Natasha feels overly protective of him.

“Have you considered that it might be Barney under the hood?” he asks, and she shrugs.

Natasha shakes her head, before sighing. “Barney's a lot of things, but he's been upfront about wanting to kill Clint before,” she starts. “As Clint's probably told you, him and Barney have bad blood. But, until the day they decide to kill each other, they'll do everything they can to keep each other alive, including coming out of hiding and scraping information together, like Barney just did.”

She points to Barney's handwriting on the paper Steve has kept. “He gave you the Intel for Fredericton, and it seems he's even helping you with the Winter Soldier. I'd really not set him up as the bad guy here,” she bites. She hates Barney. She really does. Barney is a piece of trash, and she doesn't want him near the Barton household, but he is and he will always be Clint's older brother, so by definition, that means he gets access.

And he is absolutely not a variable to be excluded. Steve however doesn't seem convinced. He unlocks the tablet again, and plays the footage of his fight with Ronin again, shaking his head. “I have never seen anyone do that other than Clint,” he states again, as he isolates the knife juggling.

“I do that,” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“Oh, stop it, Natasha. You know what I mean. We know Clint likes to show off, and that is definitely one of his moves. So that leaves the possibility of this being someone Clint knows and has worked and trained with, someone like his brother Barney, or it leaves the possibility of an incredibly skilled copycat.” Steve is absolute. There is no discussing, and Natasha feels like she's back on the Lemurian Star, where she got scolded by him for having another mission than the one he was cleared for.

She hates it.

He nods at her silence, and she hates the feeling even more. Because she isn't wrong, but she isn't right. And he isn't wrong, but he isn't right either. “Come on, you can’t say that it’s not a bit weird that it all revolves around Clint and he never sees any of the action. If anything, have you thought about the possibility that it's actually Barney under the mask? ”

As Steve crosses his arms, having but the tablet away, Natasha sighs. “If you think that it's Barney, then alright. Let's get that out of the way, get Wanda to read his mind like she did Chisholm.” She pauses.

Natasha watches Steve. Intensely. She sees all the thoughts that race through his mind as he thinks about the possibilities, and she wonders what plan he will end up figuring out. There’s no way he can figure this out.

“Alright, let's say Wanda can read Barney’s mind. That means that she has to go out there, and make sure she isn't followed, because so far we've all been taken by surprise by this Ronin guy, “ he states, as she nods at the papers on the table.

“If we all go, it'll be like handing them Barton on a silver plate. That’s too dangerous,” she states, cautious.

Steve shakes his head, frustrated. “Then we get Barney here, get Wanda to read his mind.” He points to the piece of paper that still shows Petit’s face.

“There's something Barney knows, that he isn't telling us,” he continues, before he looks at her. “I know you can feel it too, there's too much going on here, and he hasn't told us anything that makes him completely clean. As far as I'm concerned, it might just be a bigger plan to get him close to Clint again, and use that as an excuse.”

She frowns. She dislikes this idea vehemently, but she has to give Steve some credit. “So what, we get Ronin to go after Barney? Or the other way around?” she asks, as her shoulders slump down. Sam's on his way back up to Canada to meet with Wanda. She knows Steve will go up there too, if it means finding some clues about Bucky. That leaves her and War Machine to take care of this mess.

“I don't think it'll be that easy,” Steve finishes as he moves to the door, dismissing Natasha. “Get Barton on the line, see what we can do.”

* * *

“I can't ask that of you,” Steve says at Clint's face on the tablet. He can hear Barney’s voice in the background, arguing with Laura. They're hashing their voices so that they don't wake up the kids. With the time difference, it's late at night.

Clint shakes his head and picks up his own tablet so that it faces him better - and also so that the noise coming from what Steve is the kitchen gets blurred out. “I don't care, Ronin left a message for me by stabbing you in the ribs, Cap,” he says, with a frown.

Steve can see the dark circles under his eyes, Nathaniel has been giving them a hard time, he still hasn't slept through the night, and with the commotion of Barney and Natasha coming and going, it's hard for the child to settle. Especially when Laura is still sick like this.

“I'm coming with you guys to Canada, whether you like it or not,” Clint says with a sense of finality that Steve doesn't dare argue with.

It's different with Barton than what it is with Natasha. Natasha and him have spent missions together, they've shared blood together. He feels like he works better with Natasha and Sam than what he does with Clint and James, and Wanda… Well, she's something of her own. So he doesn't argue with Clint because Clint is a senior agent who knows what's best for him and his family. Or at least, Steve hopes so.

“If Ronin shows up, we might be able to settle this too,” Clint says and Steve sees him lift his head to look above the tablet. Then it all blurs as Clint gets up and walks to the kitchen. Steve feels like it's intrusive to stay on the line as he hears the argument through the microphone.

It's Laura who's speaking. “If you're going to Canada, I'm going too,” she's saying, and Steve thinks that it's Barney's laugh that he hears.

“Laura, I know you want to do this, but you can't. You physically can't make it into town without having to take a nap, you're not flying to Canada,” Clint's voice argues as he shushes Barney. “I'll be on coms at all times, it'll be like you were there. Besides, if you come too,” he starts as he takes a better grip on the tablet, moving his hand to where the microphone is, “it means leaving the kids, leaving Nate with Barney. And trust me, as much as I trust him with my life, I don't trust him with my kids,” and at that, there's a loud snort.

“Don't think I can handle diaper dut-”

Steve decides to cut off the communication before the argument reaches a more personal level. Clint's decision had been his own: he's joining them in Canada, leaving Laura and Barney at the farm. The threat is against him, not them (although, “all you hold dear” sort of sounds like a threat against Laura too).

He's been off missions for weeks now, and Steve feels nervous. They're going to have to be careful. Clint had said that he would be the best bait to get Ronin to show, but it still feels like an awkward way of doing it. There has to be a better way. They've agreed to meet in Halifax, a town near that of Fredericton. If they suddenly decide to meet there, it might spook their targets and it's best to regroup before they go in.

* * *

Nathaniel still isn't used to Barney. He's only seen him twice before, and the toddler’s facial memory still isn't that good. So, there's still a sort of unnerving feeling whenever Barney sits down at the table. That, and because of the fact that he's here now, they all have moved one spot right or left across the table.

Sitting in his high chair, Nathaniel has been accepting the small spoons of mashed steamed vegetables given to him by Clint, but he hasn't looked away from Barney. Cooper and Lila don't really care that Barney's here now, it's a thing that happens, just like Natasha. Some days, they wake up and they're there, some days they wake up again and they're gone. It's not like their uncle is the best uncle in the world. (He barely ever brings them presents).

Laura is watching Nathaniel carefully. Her mono hasn't really gotten better or worse, it's stagnating. And, it's frustrating for her, because she won't be able to breastfeed Nathaniel at all. She hates it. Clint can feel it. He's the one who prepares the powdered milk and food - steaming the vegetables, cutting them, mashing them, making sure there isn't too much seasoning in it. Laura has taken up the physical duties, massaging Nathaniel's thighs and stretching his legs, as much as she can, helping him hold his head steady and all that. But, Nathaniel's crawling now, so that's a good sign.

But there's still the never-ending worry that his temperature is too high compared to what the pediatrician say it should be.

“Dada,” Nathaniel says as he points a sticky finger at Barney. Clint shakes his head.

“Nope, not Daddy. That's Barney, he's your uncle.” He tries to focus on the task at hand, but that's the moment where Cooper let's out a heavy sigh.

“Alright, mom, dad, Barney, what's going on and why does it feel like you're all about to start yelling at each other again?”

Oh. Clint's hand steadies on its way to Nathaniel's mouth, which is gaping open expecting the food to come. Laura looks up from her plate at the question, and Barney just grunts a reply. “I'm going to Canada,” Clint explains as he finally pushes the spoon into Nathaniel's mouth. The toddler bites down and takes the contents of it into his mouth, before deciding that no, he doesn't want anymore, and pushing it out with his tongue, sticking everything out.

“No, Nathaniel, what are you doing?” Laura asks as Clint sighs, picking up the wet towel to clean Nathaniel's face.

Cooper looks from Barney to Clint. “And why is you going to Canada a bad idea?” he asks, expectantly.

Laura clears her throat just as Nathaniel lets out a shriek of displeasure. “Because, Clint going to Canada means that he's going on a mission,” she starts, and when Clint shoots her a disapproving glance, she continues anyway, because the children are old enough to understand what's going on, “a mission that I don't approve of and I think is stupid.”

Clint's gaze darts to the plate containing baby-food, but he's actually relieved when both of his older kids let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank God,” Lila says,  to the astonishment of the three adults present. (Even Nathaniel seems suddenly taken aback by her reaction because he's stopped trying to put his fingers into the mashed food). “We thought you were getting a divorce or something,” she says and Laura let's out a chuckle while Clint's ears go red.

“You've been coming and going, so we thought maybe it was because you needed some time away,” Cooper comments, and Barney shares a knowing glance with Clint. “But if you've just been going on missions, then it's fine.”

Laura however, isn't fine with it. “This entire mission is stupid, and I don't see why we're going along with it. You should have pulled the plug long ago,” she says, and Clint nods.

“I know, Laura, I know. We're almost done anyway,” he says as he puts down the spoon and cleans his fingers in the wet towel,  so as to reach out and pick Nathaniel out of the high chair.

“We just need to finish the last phase and it'll be done,” he says, confident, as Nathaniel nestles his head against Clint's shoulder. Laura arches her eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Yeah, well. I understand why, I just don't get why you both have to go,” she replies and Barney smiles.

“Because Captain America himself needs to be conned, and to do that, it takes two Bartons,” he comments, and Clint shakes his head.

“You're an idiot,” he grumbles and Nathaniel closes his fist around Clint's shirt, putting some sticky food all over. (It's not the first shirt Nathaniel claims as his own wet towel, and it definitely won't be the last.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How did you like it? Leave a comment, leave an ask on tumblr (@spectralarchers), leave a kudos or share it. I'm so, so, so excited for you guys to read the rest, you guys have no idea. I've got my faithful @kate-katiehawkeye yelling at me whenever I write more things, so you can all be excited, because shit's about to go down.
> 
> Let me know how you liked it. Seriously. Do it! (Especially with that plot twist at the end, right?)


	4. The Pledge - Phase IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having decided to join the New Avengers on the field, Clint Barton has to accept that he's not in the best shape of his life and that his lack of training might cost him dearly. Their trip to Canada turn into an adventure of its own when an uninvited guest decides to stop by an art gallery and invite the great Captain America and Hawkeye himself inside with him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I MADE 50K ON NANO, MOTHERFUCKERS. (Sorry for the language). Since it's the 16th of November today, as I post this, I want to celebrate me hitting the 50k limit on NaNoWriMo by giving you guys another update.
> 
> I really hope that you'll enjoy it very much and that you'll keep commenting because I thrive off your comments (I literally do!). I'm so excited for you to read this.
> 
> I gotta warn: hospital mention, as well as discussions of how it feels to be and to wake up from a general aenesthesia. Other than that... Canon typical violence would be the go to warning.

They've decided to touch down in Halifax. That means that they are going to have to drive the rest of the way into Fredericton, which, at this time of year, is as bad as Iowa.

The snow covering everything makes it both beautiful and haunting. Anything can come out of the snow, and anything can hide in it. Wanda hates it.

She hates it with her entire soul, and she’d wish for anything to come and melt the snow. All around her, she's cold. Always cold. She feels it in her bones, and she wants to go find Pietro‘s hand. His hands were always warm.

She's made it up there in an airplane of her own, booked on a commercial flight from Toronto to Fredericton. It was an easy trip, not too dangerous nor too craving. Just a couple of hours, and she was already on the ground again. (She liked that, having her feet on the ground. After Sokovia, after everything... )

Steve and Natasha have made it there too, joined her in a small motel on the side of the road. There's a main road right next to it, so the sounds of the night traffic usually keep her awake. Natasha has told her that it's better here than in Saint John’s, that's an old city, where you can see that the modernisation happened too fast for it to follow the rhythm. Natasha can still remember the waters in the harbour, when the moon decides to pull in the water from ashore again, creating a maelstrom into which it would be easy to fall.

It's not courage, that Wanda feels when Natasha speaks to her about it. It's a fearful respect of mother nature. Wanda too, has seen nature’s destructive force. It's not an easy feat of flooding streets after heavy rain falls, but she's seen the torrents appear out of nowhere, the ground too dry to absorb any of the humidity, and just sending it on. As the water picks up the dry dirt and sand on the ground, it becomes muddied and muddied, until such time as it gets so thick, that it takes you down by force. She's seen it. Lived it.

She knows nature is as dangerous as humankind.

Clint is flying out from the farm later that day. He'd make the trip in six hours - flying in stealth mode, keeping him as untraceable as Banner had been when he'd hijacked Ultron’s jet, he needs to be careful which airspace he flies over even then.

He once told her that being stealthy isn't enough. They're not invisible. If someone sees him with their bare eye, they can send up other birds to shoot him down. Stark’s tech is good, if not the best, but that specific jet doesn't have invisibility panels on it like the Helicarrier had. So, he keeps below 500 metres altitude at all times, and flies over unpopulated areas.

Knowing, however, that he is going to be able to make it there, fills Wanda with an inner peace. It's not that she doesn't feel safe or comfortable around the others, it's just that Clint had been the one to help her. He'd been the one there the first time, when Pietro had used his powers against the ‘weak ones’ like Strucker had said. Clint had been the one to manage to keep her out of his head, even when she'd managed to get into the head of the God of Thunder himself. And then, Clint had been the one to help her get herself together before the mission, during the mission. He'd been the one to tell her that they trusted her.

He'd been the one to give her a second chance. She looked at Natasha and saw that second chance too. She hadn't dared ask how Clint had come to SHIELD, but she knew that it was  a second chance too.

All day they've been listening in on the news. James has managed to get onto the RCMP’s frequency, and he's listening in on their reports of anything strange happening. His French is good, and that's useful - New Brunswick is the only bilingual territory in Canada. Wanda doesn't understand much of what is being said, and just sits on her bed.

Steve is going through reports on his laptop, quietly digging away at any occurrences that have caused any consequences around here. It's a search for the Winter Soldier, Wanda knows. She's seen the files on him, seen the exhibition at the Smithsonian. She knows from Steve’s darkest fears that Bucky and Peggy Carter are from a part of his past that he still fights with to this day.

She sits on the bed, watching him look at the screen. She doesn't peek into his head, although she knows he doesn't mind it - he's told her that if she needs to look into his head at any time to make sure that they're here to help, she can do so. But she can feel the deep buried frustration making its way up to the surface again, as if it was a never-ending fight to get to the bottom of things. He looks Stern. And older than what he is - if you don't count the time spent in the ice. She can see the lines on his face that cause this, and she can see it in his eyes, although those eyes are looking at the screen. She knows how to see. It came with her powers through the mind stone.

Then, she focuses on Natasha.

Natasha is lying on one of the beds of the motel room. They're trying to do this quietly, and keeping out of the larger hotels and safe houses is best. Natasha doesn't trust any of her safe houses after that she sent everything out on the Internet, and this precise part of Canada was one of the only places in the world where she and Clint didn't have an off grid safe house. (Wanda doesn't blame them).

Natasha's breathing is even and quiet. She's got her eyes closed, and she's focusing on her body, Wanda can feel. There's a distant drumming sound in Natasha's head, something that's always there. Wanda felt it the first time she invaded Natasha's head, sending her back to the Red Room. The drumming, she thinks is caused by all the times Natasha was broken only to be rebuilt. A way for her to focus on reality.

Wanda breaks away fromNatasha's feeling and aura and looks up. The smile that creeps onto her lips betrays what the others haven't heard yet. Clint is here. She can already sense herself calming down and taking a deeper breath. She hasn't seen the archer in months, and this entire mission has thrown her perception of him up and down.

* * *

“ No clues?”

They've all greeted each other, and they've all acknowledged each other too. Clint hasn't seen Sam in a very long time, and same goes for James, so he barely knows them. He's worked with them on a couple of missions, but to be honest, Natasha is the one who has the better partnership with them. Steve shakes his head at his question, and Natasha frowns.

They haven't found anything that might lead to either of their ghosts. “We've been looking for anything unusual,” she says as she hands her notebook to Clint to look over. He frowns at her scribbles,  to what she makes a face.

“ Have you guys tried going up Saint John’s River?” he asks, as he looks over the notes again. “You get another view of the city from the water, and there's something you might have missed like an entry to the sewers or something.”

Natasha sees Sam about to ask a question, but she thinks he finds the answer to his question himself - the river is frozen solid, they're as safe on foot as they would be on solid ground. Wanda looks up from the scribbles she's been reading over Clint's shoulder.

“ What about the bridges?” she asks, and Steve's head snaps up. Bridges and Bucky aren't fond memories, but they're memories nonetheless. They might be helpful.

Clint turns and looks at the map they've managed to set up on the wall. “We should go for a walk. Both in broad daylight, and at night, might be that neither of them is ready to come out in the daylight. But that gives us plenty of time to look for escape routes.” He looks at Steve for confirmation, and the nod that Steve gives him is enough to make him push himself off the table.

“ Alright then, let's go,” he says as he walks over to his jacket and pulls it on. Natasha pauses for a moment, looking them all over. She grinds her teeth together.

“ I'm not sure we should all go,” she states, and Clint nods, as if the thought of them going all together had been his best idea.

“ Fair enough, then who comes with me?” he questions, and it's not exactly a rush to accompany him. Not that they don't want to, it's just that they all feel like going with him would be awkward. Eventually, Natasha pushes Steve in the ribs - that are still hurting, causing him to flinch away - and Steve volunteers (well, sort of).

"I'll go with you,” he says and Clint nods, satisfied.

“ Alright, well, get your civvies on, and let's go,” he nods as he greets Sam with a look. (Wanda feels there's a story there that isn't being told, a story that Natasha is in on, and she wonders what history there is between Sam and Clint. She's very far away from the truth of them having met before).

(Clint himself isn't sure if Steve knows that Sam once upon a time hit him square in the jaw and that Clint was the reason Sam’s partner Riley got shot in the leg at some point).

(It seems, they've both accepted the fact that they're not going to talk about it publicly).

* * *

The silence in the car is awkward. Steve is the one driving this time, and Clint hasn't really said anything this far, except that he's commented on the research and Intel gathering they've all done on the city and on the last sightings of people around here.

When they reach a light that changes from green to orange just as they arrive, Steve rubs his temple, unsure of how to grasp the idea or the question. “Natasha and I have been talking,” he starts, and Clint is clever enough not to interrupt. He just turns his attention to Steve, while still keeping an eye on the road. “And, there's something I wanted to talk to you about,” Steve says, as he bends his arm backwards, to catch the bag he'd packed before heading out.

He puts it on Clint's lap as the light turns green, and he continues straight ahead. “There's my tablet in there,” he states and Clint fumbles a bit around before finding it. “Unlocking it is 47231,” he says as Clint types it in, guiding him through it, “and then there's a video file on the desktop somewhere,” he comments, a quick glance from the road onto the screen to make sure the icon was there.

“ Want me to watch it now?” Clint asks, before he presses it, and the nod that Steve gives him as a reply is enough. He presses the icon, presses yes on the question that asks him if he wants to read the video file with sound on, and watches it. It's the sequence from the training room, where Ronin and Steve fought. They hadn't caught Natasha's fight with him on camera, and so far, it's all they've got of the masked ghost.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve watches Clint watch the video. Clint has an excellent poker face, however, and if he's surprised at anything it doesn't show. He's probably just reading the video in every detail like he always does, seeing things they always miss. He looks up from the screen once the play is over, and looks at the road -  an old habit from someone who is used to driving. “What did you want me to see?” he asks, and Steve suddenly feels silly.

Maybe it's just him being paranoid. “That knife flip that he does at one point,” Steve starts, and Clint's face lights up with a smile. “Don't you do that too?”

Shaking his head, although appearing amused, Clint answers negatively. “I do that with arrows and stuff,” he starts, “but I've never done it with a knife before. I haven't used a knife since-” he stops as he thinks back and suddenly he feels his heart hurting.

“ Haven't used a knife since that time on the helicarrier when I almost killed Natasha,” he states, amusement suddenly gone from his voice as he thinks back to the memory.

Steve stays quiet at this realization before he indicates a left turn. They cross the bridge with the car, they're going to park it down on the parking lot of the Beaverbrook Art Gallery, as it gives directly down onto the river and they can probably make their way down the bank of the river and onto the icy surface.

Steve sighs, as he lets go of the wheel with one hand, to rub his forehead. He's had a constant headache ever since he breathed in that strawberry smelling anesthetic gas, and he can't shake the feeling that it might just be in his head. For As long as this case isn't resolved, he feels that he's going to have the headache to take into account. And it bothers him. Immensely.

“ It's just,” he starts, but now that he's in front of Clint and can ask him directly, it feels absolutely stupid and he doesn't want to ask it anymore. But Clint is onto him.

“ What?”

“ It's just, that all of this,” he says as he points to the papers Clint has tried to organize around the car, “it all comes back to you and I'm not saying I think you're hiding something, let alone being the one under the mask,” to what Clint raises an eyebrow, ready to interrupt but Steve doesn't let him, “but I just think it's weird, alright.”

He rubs his eyes, and Clint realizes for the first time just how tired Steve is. “Hey, Steve?” he asks, to get Steve's attention. It remains on the road, but he also feels that Steve is listening to him. “You've got a broken collarbone, a healing injury at your side, probably headaches that kill you because of the pain and also the frustration of being on edge all the time,” he says and Steve can already feel his words help him calm down a little bit.

“ That's also why I came out here,” Clint says, as he readjusts himself in the seat, pulling the seat belt a bit further than him and rearranging it on his shoulder. “You guys have been fighting my fight for weeks now, it's about time I showed my face,” he mutters as he looks back down at the video on the screen.

Ronin had threatened him directly, asking him to stop hiding. “He wants me to come out of hiding, so I will. Also why I want to be seen with you today,” Clint says and this time, it's him who doesn't let Steve speak. “I don't care what you think, I already had this argument with Laura, okay? I'm fine with this, if it means that some of you guys don't get cut open by a maniac, then it's even better. Wanda didn't get hurt because he wanted to give her a message, but he could have sliced Natasha's throat and yours too. I'm not leaving you guys to clean up my mess.”

They're making it over the water and Clint looks over the edge through the window. The ice down there doesn't look like it's about to move any time soon. Natasha hadn't been too fond of the idea, he knows, but he wonders about Steve. Steve who had been a part of such an ice creation, and he wonders how Steve will take it.

Just like Clint has it, he's sure Steve still gets triggered by some things. Clint still gets affected by the cold, it makes his mind go numb and every now and then, there's flashes of blue. He knows it's just in his head. But he wonders if Steve has the same experiences. He must have. Everyone has their own triggers.

He doesn't ask though, as Steve drives them up to the parking lot. As Steve maneuvers through the crosses and intersections, Clint puts the tablet away and looks down at the papers. This isn't a fun mission, it's life or death. He side eyes Steve’s sides, and thinks about the knife. He can almost see it in front of his eyes.

When he looks up again, Clint is decided. They're going to find an end to this, and soon. It's about damn time.

* * *

Climbing out of the car, Clint zips his jacket up all the way. It's cold up here, cold enough for him to get frostbite if he isn't careful. (He'd come ridiculously close to losing some of his fingers to the cold, once. Wasn't something he was willing to try again). Steve follows almost immediately, and locks the car. It's a large car, a silver grey Ford Mondeo that they've rented.

For all that Clint knows, even though their faces have been plastered all over the news outlets in the world after Ultron (combined with the revelation of HYDRA being within SHIELD), there are still some who don't know their faces. It's both incredible and unnerving. But then again, as he knows, some people forget easily or don't pay attention. And out here? In the Great White Canadian North? There’s probably a lot of people not paying attention.

His boots creak against the snow on the ground, and his breath condenses immediately. He can feel the cold against the back of his throat when he breathes, and he pulls up the thick fleece scarf that he uses on recon missions. Looking over at Steve, who is also covering the lower part of his face with a scarf, wearing a thick jacket too, he nods. He thinks he was on the right track earlier; neither one of them wants to be frozen.

As they check that the car is locked, Clint starts walking up to the building. It's a beautiful building, he muses. “Want to go in and see the art, after we’re done?” he asks Steve, who just shakes his head.

“ No, it's fine, I've got the MoMA and a whole bunch of other museums in New York I can go to,” he answers, and Clint nods. He starts walking again, feels the cold against his legs. Despite what most people think, he likes the cold better. It clears his mind, everything is more sharpened. And, the bonus with cold, is that you can always put on more clothing. The only thing is, that for him, the cold is like a flirt with the devil. He loves the cold, always has, always will, but whenever it gets too cold, just below that point where it goes from cold to freezing, that's the point he hates. Because suddenly blue edges seem to appear from everywhere and he can feel his body start to react to it. Like it's living through a trauma again.

Steve walks up to his side, and they walk in silence for a while. They make it to the far edge of the property, and make it down to the small dirt road that leads down to the water. There's a chain keeping vehicles off it. Clint knows it's officially called a ‘fire escape route’, but he doesn't know which fire department vehicle would fit there. He climbs over the chain and waits for Steve to do the same. This time, it's Steve who speaks again.

“ I'm sorry about what I said in the car,” he says, and Clint looks up from the ground, to acknowledge he heard him before looking back down. “This entire thing has just felt so out of place,” he continues, looking down too. They have to make sure they don't step on a slippery patch or they're both going to make it down to the ice a bit faster than intended.

“ I've been so frustrating about not finding any cues about Petit, and since your brother Barney told us it isn't Duquesne either, I feel like we've hit a dead end.”

Clint clears his throat before he speaks. “I've got a feeling that somehow, Barney was wrong on that Intel,” he says, before he puts down his foot on an icy patch. The half second it takes him to realize that his foot has started sliding makes it look like he just stumbled, but he catches himself again by moving to the side. “Swordsman liked coming here, with Carson and the Circus of Crime,” he says, as he motions up above his shoulder and motions to the hill like landscape behind them.

“ The UNB campus up there was where he'd usually go whenever we parked the tent somewhere,” he explains. “It's not a coincidence that we are here,” he finishes, as the ground gets a bit steeper. He can't both speak and climb down here, so now favor of getting down, he shuts up for a while. Steve leads the way this time, and Clint sets down his feet the same place as the captain.

There's an unnerving quietness about the entire place. Nobody is out yet, and the climb has gone without any trouble. When they reach the edge of the water, Clint takes a deep breath and pulls own the scarf from his face. Steve can see the damp marks of sweat on either side of Clint's face.

“ Let's go check out the bridge,” he says after he's taken three deep breaths and pulled up the scarf again. They walk in silence on the docks for a while, and the dimmed quietness of the world around them feels like a tomb. Clint can feel his heart pulsing, his beat slightly elevated. It's his body reacting to the cold, and he doesn't like it.

His hand goes to the spot on his chest where Loki touched him, and he decides to break the silence. “Do you get nervous whenever you go near ice?” he asks, as they trek up past a larger patch of Ice. Steve shakes his head, but it's not a confident head shake.

“ Not really,” he answers, “I don't like the cold. Reminds of one too many bad things, but it's more of a personal discomfort than real nervousness,” he finishes, and Clint nods. They've almost made it to the edge of the bridge.

“ Why were you asking?” Steve then says, and Clint shrugs, trying to play it off as curiosity. As his breathing evens out, he can feel the blue creeping in from the back of his mind. He usually goes for a run when this happens, but he can't exactly do that now. So he just focuses on the mission at hand.

“ Just curious,” he answers, as he points to the pillars beneath the bridge, holding it up. “See those? They're good vantage points. Good hiding places,” he explains. He moves his finger slightly to the left, motioning to the middle part of the bridge. “That's where it's a good hiding place,” he says, “because there's a heating device that keeps the important parts from freezing together. You ever seen the Golden Gate Bridge in a windstorm?” Steve nods. “A bit the same here, if the bridge is frozen, it's too dangerous. So they keep it slightly warm and toasty.”

Clint nods to himself. “Places like that make excellent hideouts,” he finally says.

“ Speaking out of experience?” Steve asks, and Clint nods.

“ Trust me, you don't want to know,” he answers, as he pulls out one of the SHIELD issued tablets he uses. Lifting it up, he points it at the central pillar and zooms in, to get more details. The tablet outlines the structure, and with a swipe to the side, Clint gets to see the heat signatures, but there's nothing off there.

He lowers the tablet again and pulls down the scarf. “I think we've got to wait for a while, see if there's any change in the heat emissions,” he mutters, and Steve sits down in the snow. Their clothing is good enough to resist the cold.

Clint settles down next to Steve and pulls out the tablet. He isn't sure how good at waiting Steve is, but he doesn't mind the quiet. There's too much going on.

* * *

Their wait doesn't bring any changes. Having spoken to Natasha on the phone, they decide to make it back to the car and go back to the motel to debrief and find another entry point to the mission.

Climbing up in the fading light is a bit more difficult than climbing down, but Steve notices that Clint doesn't seem to struggle with it. He's confident in his steps, and never even slips. The climb up happens in silence, and when they reach the top again, they can see that there's newly formed stalactites on the metal chain they'd walked over earlier that day.

It's when they walk back towards the car that they notice a difference. There's a large black four wheel drive, a Humvee, as far as Steve is concerned, parked right next to it. Immediately, they're on their guards, and Clint moves closer to Steve. It's not exactly a subtle white clothing they're wearing, so they could be targeted from afar.

Which is what happens the moment they step in front of the steps that lead up and into the art gallery. Clint pulls Steve back, but the red dot that has suddenly appeared on Steve’s chest follows. Both their eyes dart up and into the darkness, the sky has covered with clouds and they can't see anything. However, when Clint's head snaps to the side in a reflex, and he moves a step back, they understand why.

“ _ Mais quelle surprise! _ ”  a fine clothed man states, standing in the opening of the Art Gallery. Steve immediately feels Clint tense up, and when he focuses on the face in front of him, he recognizes it from their boards.

“ Swordsman,” Clint grumbles as he pulls down the scarf on his face. It's not a cordial greeting, it's  seething anger that seeps through it. As far as Steve is concerned, the last time Clint saw this man, Jacques Duquesne, he'd just cut a tightrope under his feet and left Clint for dead with half his body broken. No wonder that Clint isn't happy to see him.

Jacques, however, seems delighted. “Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?” he asks, in a heavily accented voice. Oh, he's definitely French alright. Steve pulls down the scarf as Clint looks over his shoulder to make sure that they're on the same page. The subtle nod Steve gives Clint is also the sign that they're going to go on with this. Steve doesn't like guns, he doesn't have his Shield, that's in the trunk of the car. Clint has a gun hidden in the back of his pants, Steve had seen him put it there, but he can’t go for it now.  Time for intimidation instead.

Clint points over his shoulder at Steve. “Oh this guy? Just your regular Captain America,” he bites back and Duquesne raises an eyebrow.

“ So I can see,” he smiles. He takes a step to the side and motions them in, much like the way a waiter or similar would wave someone into a building. Steve doesn't like it, but they haven't got a choice. “Welcome to the Beaverbrook Art Gallery,” Duquesne states.

The lobby is grey, surrounded by glass walls. Steve doesn't like it, but he knows that Clint doesn't either.

“ Straight, straight, straight,” Duquesne says in a sing song voice, and Clint walks in there. Steve follows closely behind.

In the central room, Steve recognizes Dali’s Equestrian Fantasy. It's a magnificent artwork, and he didn't know that it lived here, in this art gallery. As they stop up, Duquesne moves past them and extends his arms to the side. He looks too cheerful for this to be just a random meeting place.

“ Isn't this place beautiful?” he asks, and Clint lifts his arms, pulling the scarf off his face.

Steve does the same, trusting Clint here. There's no need for them to keep their clothing on, and he can feel the heat kick in -  they're overdressed to be inside, and as Duquesne simply gives them the time to take off their outdoor clothing, he wonders what's going to happen.

When they're left in their clothes - civilian, they have their gear in the trunk of the car - Duquesne motions for the door with a finger snap. It opens, and out comes Jean Louis Petit, followed by Ronin. Steve’s eyes narrow, and Clint's eyebrows move up. Well, they finally found Petit.

“ You look surprised?” Duquesne asks, and Clint nods.

“ Barney said you didn't have anything to do with Petit and Ninja clown over there,” he answers.

Steve stays quiet. This isn't between him and them, it's an exclusive fight between Clint and Duquesne. “What did you need Petit for?” Clint asks, as he adjust the grey shirt he's wearing. Steve sees the subtle check for the gun in the back of his pants. It's still there, nobody has noticed it.

Duquesne shrugs, as Ronin forces Petit to sit down on the floor while pulling out the sword he's been wearing on his back. “Oh, well, I don't know. Maybe money? Because,” he pauses as he points to Ronin with his thumb, “this guy isn't exactly cheap.” He then starts laughing. “No, not really, he's here because he's got a vendetta against you and your team too, but mostly because I could and because Petit here has been working with the DGSE instead of against them,” Duquesne finally says.

Clint looks at the man on the ground, he looks terrified. It's a surprise, when you're working for criminals and underground organisations, you'd have to think about the consequences. “What are you going to do with him?” Clint asks, and Duquesne lifts his shoulders. Steve can see that he's used to putting on a show, because every single movement is meant to impress and to divert their attention elsewhere.

“ Oh, I don't know, maybe this?” the Swordsman says, as he moves to the side, putting out his hand. Ronin understands the unspoken demand and places the sword in Duquesne’s hand.

“ Wait-”

“ No, don’t-”

But both his and Clint's words are cut short when Duquesne swings the sword and Petit’s head flies to the floor. His body falls limp against the brown grey carpet. Duquesne hands the sword back to Ronin who produces a black piece of fabric and cleans the blood off the blade.

“ You son of a bitch,” Clint growls, and Steve takes a step forward.

“ Tut Tut,” Duquesne says as he shakes his index at Steve. A red dot appears on Steve’s chest and he stops moving. “And don't call my mother that, Clint,” he says, faking a sorry look, “At least mine was there for me, unlike yours.”

Steve has seen Clint angry. He's seen him deeply angry, frustrated, and ready to punch someone to of frustration. But what he sees here is deeper than that, it's a more lively reaction, it's a seething rage burning through him. He's never spoken of his mother much, but Steve knows enough that she died because Clint's father drove them into a tree while he was drunk.

“ What do you want?” Clint demands, as he puts his foot down, a red dot appearing on his forehead. Steve doesn't move, although he wants to. It's not his fight, he knows that

“ I want to take everything from you, and everything from your dear missus. What does she call herself now? Laura, is that it?” Duquesne asks, looking to the side to Ronin, who nods.

Clint's hands ball up in a fist, and regardless of the dot on his forehead, he marches up to Duquesne with every intent of harming him. He marches up, another dot appearing on the back of his head, Steve sees, just as he pulls out the gun. Clint aims it at Duquesne’s face, who just laughs, unimpressed.

“ A gun?” he says, condescending. “You're not at your best with a gun, Hawkeye,” he mutters, as he extends his hand. Ronin takes a step forward and places the edge of the still red sword on the tip of Clint's throat. In spite of the immediate threat against him, Clint's hand refuses to go down. He doesn't lower the gun. He flicks back the safety and Steve can see Clint's finger go to the trigger. So much for trigger safety. If Clint shoots Duquesne now, it's going to be a mess to explain everything. But then, Clint is and always will be an assassin. Killing a man like Duquesne probably doesn't bother him.

He had killed people before he even made it to SHIELD. Steve muses over the fact that, in spite of being one of the best agents he has ever seen, Clint, just like Natasha, has never hesitated to take the kill shot if it meant securing the mission. And in this instant? Clint might decide to finish it all off, if he decides to shoot Duquesne’s face off. Ronin pushes the blade more firmly against Clint's throat.

“ You know knives and you know arrows, but guns were never your strong suit,” the Swordsman says as Clint finally decides to hand him the gun. Instead of gratifying him for his compliant behavior, Ronin decides that he needs to be punished, and he lowers the sword and pulls it back, cutting through the skin on Clint's arm. As he watches the scene, Steve wonders what made Clint change his mind. Why didn't he shoot him? Was there yet another layer to this entire story?

Steve stands there, the dot on his chest still reminding him that any step he takes could be the end of him. There are three dots on Clint's head now, that he can see. But Clint didn't even flinch at the cut. “I'll show you what else I learnt,” Clint spits and suddenly, he's ducked, and kicked out the feet beneath Ronin, ramming into Duquesne, spearing him to the ground.

“ Cap, they're just laser pointers,” he screams as he slams his fist into Duquesne’s face, but Ronin is up on his feet again and instead of ordering Clint to stop, he makes him stop by producing a smaller knife, like the one he used to break Steve’s shoulder with.

Steve, however, isn't done and sprints up to Ronin, aiming to push him away from Clint before any damage could be done. The blur of the action cuts him off, and he hits the floor, a burning pain tearing through his arm where the knife had hit him. He rolls onto the floor, making it to his feet again, but as he assesses the situation, he realizes he was too late.

Clint is holding his side, and Ronin is helping Duquesne up. They're going to make it out, but the amount of blood that has run down Clint's side becomes Steve’s first and foremost worry. “Clint,” he calls, and Clint nods, but doesn't let go of the pressure he's been putting on the wound with both hands.

It's the same surgical wound that Ronin gave Steve, and the immediate danger is to stop the bleeding. “I'm fine, Cap,” Clint grins, as Steve moves back to where he discarded the clothes, grabbing the phone to call for medical help and to alert Natasha and the rest of the New Avengers.

This looks bad. This looks very bad. As he explains to the emergency dispatcher where they are and what injury it is, he sees Clint pick up the blade that he'd been stabbed with. The loss of pressure on the wound makes it weep but Clint doesn't seem to mind as he focuses on the blade. There must be something there.

Hanging up on the 911 call, even though he knows he shouldn't, Steve calls Natasha. She answers immediately. “Clint's hit,” Steve says as he walks up to Clint again, putting the phone on speaker, before he puts his own hands on Clint's wound.

Natasha's only word makes Clint smile.

“ Fuck.”

* * *

The ambulance makes it there in under four minutes. They concentrate on Clint's wound, wheeling him off on a gurney. Some stay behind to make sure Steve is fine, up until the moment they realize he's Captain America and stop fussing about.

The crew contacts authorities who will come and seal off the art gallery as a crime scene, and the hushed looks between the medics annoys Steve. They didn't kill Petit. He watches them as they push Clint into the ambulance, and decides to stay behind to explain the bloody mess on the carpet.

As the sound of the emergency vehicle moving out fades in the distance, he kneels around the pool of blood that's formed where Petit’s body fell. The head has rolled a couple of feet away. He looks at the cut, sharp, ruthless. There was no way that a hit like that would fail.

Pushing himself up again, Steve walks over to the head, and closes its eyes. He then turns to where Clint had been sitting, and looks down at his hands, as if he's only realizing now what has happened. He's got blood on his hands, and he knows that it's Clint's blood on there. He'd applied pressure onto the wound until a medic had come and taken over. She had been wearing a sterile glove, better than Steve’s fingers.

During the four minutes it had taken the ambulance to make it here, Clint had gone pale. He still replied to Steve’s words, laughing it off at it just being another stupid injury. But he'd been on the verge of unconsciousness. And with the amount of blood which had made it onto the carpet, Steve didn't wonder why. He wondered exactly how Clint had managed to stay awake that long.

Steve goes to find a bathroom in the building, there has to be one. He walks back to the lobby, past the glass doors they'd passed less than an hour before, and sees the sign for public toilets. Walking in there, he turns on the water tap, with hot water, and rubs off the blood. Staining the water red, Steve can't help but feel the worry and anger bubble up in his stomach and his chest.

They should have known. This is all Barney's fault, his brain screams at him. Barney sent them up here, Barney was the cause of all this. He realizes that Clint knew the risks well enough when he came, in spite of what they'd all said, but he still felt angry at the older Barton. He should have told them what he knew. That Duquesne was here and that Ronin would be here.

Someone should have known.

Steve’s knuckles turn white as he scrubs hard, then they turn pink, as he realizes he's scratching them clean. Looking at his reflection, he realizes he's got dried blood smudged on his face too, and he proceeds to clean it off, with gentle motions. He hears the sound of sirens as he dries his face in paper towels, and heads out of the bathroom.

He walks back into the room, looking up at Dali’s painting. It feels eerie. When voices finally make it to him, he turns and puts his hands up. But the officer motions him to put them down again.

“ We spoke with the squad who took your friend away,” he says, and Steve nods, expectant, “what's Captain America doing in our small town?” he asks, apparently oblivious to the body behind Steve. Either that, or ignoring it purposefully.

Steve sighs as he moves to the side to emphasize said headless body. “That's Jean Louis Petit,” he starts and the officer comes up to him. “Gone missing weeks ago in France, banker to underground networks who use circuses to clean out their dirty laundering. The people who killed him did it to threaten my friend,” Steve finishes as the officer looks up at him.

“ I'll have to take you into custody until such time we can prove neither of you did this,” the officer, Brooks, as it says on his epaulets, states and Steve nods, putting his hands behind his back. It's not the first time this has happened. Better to cooperate here. He looks up and sees the security cameras all around, knowing that they'll clear both him and Clint.

* * *

It's Natasha herself who makes it to the sheriff's office. She walks in there, her neck stiff, head high, holding herself like she belongs there. Steve has been talking with the officers about the job, the mission, handing them the details he knows they can get. (He's left out Clint's personal implications in the case).

“ Hi,” she starts as she sets her arms on the front desk. She's already noticed the room in which Steve is sitting, and by the looks of it, everybody in the office know that this is Avengers business because she gets a reply almost immediately.

“ Romanoff,” she gets, and she nods. “We've cleared Rogers and Barton thanks to the security footage. We've yet to identify the man who committed the murder by beheading and the man wearing the black and yellow suit, but your friends and colleagues are cleared. They'll need to testify as key witnesses to the murder of Petit-”

"The good captain is giving his statement now,” Natasha interrupts, and the lady looks up from her paperwork with a stern look on her face. 

She purses her lips, and Natasha realizes that she's scared. “I'm just reading up protocol.”

Natasha smiles, apologetic. “Sorry, go ahead.”

Not everyone is used to murder by whichever means is possible. Natasha has seen everything so many times, as has Clint, they've used improvisation as a tool to finish jobs. But in the wake of both Hydra, Ultron, the Mandarin, even Greenwich and San Francisco, she understands that they're scared. Up here, nothing ever happens. And if the Avengers are here, it means that something either has just happened and been avoided, or something is about to happen and is going to possibly level an entire city.

The female officer finishes off her list of phrases she has to say, and Natasha nods to each of them, her smile warming up. Steve makes it out of the room, an equally friendly smile on his face. She motions at him with her chin. “How's Clint?” she asks him, and he shrugs.

“ Stable,” he replies. “Last I heard they'd managed to stop the bleeding, but word got out that he'll be in surgery for a couple of more hours.” He looks down at his hands briefly, a motion that Natasha picks up on, but doesn't comment. “Have to make sure none of his organs were hit,” he finishes and points to his own side.

“ Like the ventricles that Ronin missed on me last time.”

Natasha nods.

“ You finished giving your statement?” she asks him, and as he nods she turns to the officer behind the desk again. “If we want to go and wait at the hospital, does he need one of your officers to follow him?” Better play it by their rules. They're guests here, and Clint's life is apparently in their hands.

The officer shakes her head. “We’ll keep in touch with our people there, and as soon as Mr. Barton has given his statement, you'll be ready to go.” She wets her lips as she looks down on her papers again. “We’ll keep you out of the press statement we give later today.”

Natasha's eyes widen, but she nods. “Thank you,” is the only thing she can manage to whisper as she turns back around and walks out of there, Steve in tow. As they walk to the car, she moves closer to him.

“ What happened?”

“ Duquesne cornered us as we came up from the edge of the water,” Steve explains. “Forced us into the gallery, where Ronin showed up with Petit. Duquesne beheaded Petit because he'd apparently been working with the French secret services, and then Clint pulled a gun on Duquesne, tried to fight them but Ronin stabbed him too fast for any of us to do anything. Then they got away and Clint was bleeding out on the carpet.”

He takes a deep breath as he walks up to the passenger's side of the car. Natasha has retrieved their car from the parking lot of the art gallery, and he's relieved to see that their duffel bags remain untouched in the trunk. As she sits down behind the wheel, she looks up. “Wanda felt it,” she finally says when Steve makes it into the seat.

“ She felt the moment where Clint got stabbed.” Her hand goes to her neck, where the arrow necklace hangs quietly, a wordless promise to take care of Clint.

Steve pretends he didn't see. “How?”

Natasha puts down her hand and puts the key in the ignition. “You ever seen the old Star Wars movies?” she asks, and when he nods she frowns, trying to remember the line. “Like when Obi Wan feels the Disturbance in the Force after the Empire destroys Alderaan.”

If anything, it makes sense to Steve, who goes along with it. “Let's go see Clint,” he finishes, as Natasha drives them out of the parking lot.

* * *

Sam's been walking back and forth for the better part of the hour. Wanda is sitting on one of the chairs, focusing on one of the vending machines to her right. It's not that she particularly hungry, it's just a training exercise to get her mind off the fact that Clint is getting stitched up in one of the rooms in this very hospital. She's been trying to get one of the chocolate bars to fall down with her mind, but every time she's managed to get it to move, she's realized her hands were glowing red.

James? James had gone to the sheriff's office to finish off the paperwork and make sure they didn't forget anything. (And, also to give a statement, should they decide to include them in their official press release anyway).

When he'd learned that Petit had been working with the DGSE, all the issues he'd had in Monaco suddenly made sense. Of course they hadn't wanted to share any information about him with them, because if it got out that he'd been a sort of traitor, he would have been terminated as fast as he'd been kidnapped.

Sam's head snaps to the side as he sees Natasha and Steve walk through the revolving doors, and he goes up to greet them. “He's going to be out in about an hour,” he says as Natasha goes to Wanda.

“ He's going to be waking up from the surgery, which should take an hour,” he clarifies and Steve nods.

Wanda has never had surgery before. She got shots once, as a child, when they had to remove two of her teeth to make room for her wisdom teeth, but she has never tried being under a general anesthesia. Natasha's hands on hers make her look up. “He is fine,” Wanda says as she looks down to the floor, on her left. The surgery room is down there. They've moved him to another room, where they'll be monitoring his waking up until he's ready to come out to a room of his own.

Natasha smiles at her. “Thanks,” she whispers, pushing herself up again and pulling out her phone. Steve and Sam are discussing, but she motions to the phone. “I'll call Laura, tell her what happened,” and they both nod at her, continuing their discussion.

Focusing on the vending machine again, Wanda tries to get one of the bars to move by closing her eyes and focusing on the space rather than the contents. She concentrates, and when she hears Natasha hang up, a satisfying noise brings her to open her eyes again. Walking up to the machine, she pushes the little opening in and retrieves her snack. Natasha looks at her from the side of the room where she's just hung up with Laura, and Steve and Sam don't even seem to have noticed.

Sitting back on her spot, Wanda opens the plastic wrapping. It's a bounty bar, the blue and white appealing to her more than the colorful Skittles packaging or the red of the Kit Kat. Natasha comes to sit down next to her, the phone still in hand. Wanda can feel Natasha's worry storming through her veins and hands her the bar before she bites into it.

“ No, thanks,” Natasha says with a smile, resting her elbows on her knees.

Biting into the bar, Wanda is surprised at the coconut taste. She chews a little bit, before she settles back and frowns. “How does it feel?” she asks Natasha, who shakes her head, not understanding the question. "To wake up from the anesthesia,” she then clarifies, and Natasha takes a deep breath.

“ Depends,” she starts, as she pushes herself to sit upright against the back of the chair. It creaks as she does so. “I usually wake up quietly, coming to my senses. It's all about control of the mind over the body,” she says, and Wanda nods. Then, Natasha motions to the door, but Wanda knows she means Clint.

“ Clint doesn't wake up quietly,” she explains. “He's never been good at waking up quietly after a surgery, unless he's been in an induced coma. Those he wakes up like he wakes up from sleep. But when he's been in surgery?” she purses her lips. “He wakes up with a start, and they usually need to help him stay down in the bed.” She takes the time to think over the next words.

“ It's not so much that he's angry or scared, but it's a reflex he has. The first thing you register when you wake up is the pain. There's always going to be pain, those are the first signals that make it to your brain, and so, inevitably, you try and run from it. It's the flight reflex.” She smiles, vaguely, and Wanda recognizes the caring feeling that Natasha has for Clint in that. “They usually give him a shot of morphine to allow him to get back to his senses,” she finishes.

“ How does it feel?” Wanda asks and Natasha pushes her head back to rest against the wall.

“ Kind of like the first breath of air you take after you've been underwater for too long?”

When Wanda nods, understanding it, Natasha lets the silence fill their conversation. There's still time til they're going to come and tell them Clint is ready and awake. Steve and Sam are still discussing plans, Wanda can hear them. She mimics Natasha and lets her head fall against the wall too, and she closes her eyes.

She isn’t supposed to fall asleep, but she does so nonetheless.

* * *

“ Wanda,” Natasha quietly says, as she tries to figure out how to wake the young redhead without a start. “Hey, Wanda,” she tries again, and the girl stirs. She was sleeping soundly, she notices the grains that the sandman left on the corner of her eyes and smiles warmly at her.

“ Hey, Clint's ready to see us now,” Natasha says again and Wanda nods, yawning, before making chewing motions to make her jaw work again. (Natasha had forbidden Steve and Sam to comment on the fact that Wanda’s mouth had opened while she slept, because as far as she was concerned, both of them did so too).

“ How is he?” Wanda asks, as she pushes herself up to stand. Steve and Sam are nowhere to be seen, so she figures they've gone ahead and went to see Clint before her and Natasha.

Natasha shrugs. “Not sure yet, but they say that he's out of any danger, so I guess that's a good sign,” she says and Wanda nods in agreement.

They both move to the door, and as soon as Wanda's mind reaches out, she senses the familiar touch that Clint's mind always greets her with. It's a familiar feeling, and she instantly feels both better and bitter - better, because she hasn't seen Clint since they debriefed his and Steve’s reconnaissance mission to the bridge, and bitter because the only reason that he's in there now is because of that stupid bridge.

Sure, he could have suffered a worse fate by getting his head chopped off like Petit, but she still feels partly responsible for the injury he’s sustained. Not that there had been anything she could do - she'd just felt a punch to the gut, minutes before Steve made the call to tell them that Clint was being wheeled off to a hospital.

She moves through the door after Natasha, who gives her the space she needs. Clint is looking drowsy, and yet, he manages to smile at her. “Hey, Wanda,” he mutters as she walks up to him.

Natasha follows her behind, and puts her hand on Wanda’s shoulder. “He's still under morphine,” she states as she motions to the drip. Wanda nods.

Steve and Sam are standing to the side of the room, allowing Wanda some time with him. They've spoken with him before she came in, she realizes, which is why she gets the time now. There's some silence, where she doesn't know what to say. Natasha removes her hand and goes to sit on the foldable metal chair they've found in the lobby and taken in here.

“ They're going to let him out in three days, then I'll fly him back home.”

Wanda sees Steve and Sam nod at this, and she nods too. There isn't much else to do, other than let time pass so she can let him heal. She looks over her shoulder at Natasha, who speaks again. “They're saying the knife came incredibly close to the ventricles between the ribs, but thanks to some miracle it didn't injure any organs. Basically, they just had to stitch everything up,” she shrugs, “he was just bleeding, but it was nothing serious.”

Clint sits there, listening in on the conversation through his haze, and Wanda can see his eyes drift closed, as sleep and rest come to him again. She can't help herself but try and soothe him with her mind, even though she's promised never to do that. As her hands start glowing red, Natasha takes her left hand in hers and forces her to look into her green eyes.

“ He's going to be fine,” she says with a little smile, “just let him rest. He's used to the pain.” Wanda turns to Steve who takes a step forward, his body signaling to them that it's time to leave the room.

They slowly, quietly, all make it out, Wanda the last. Clint is out cold, knocked out by the pain and the morphine dripping into his system. As she makes it out to the corridor, she has to divert at the last minute so she doesn't bump into Sam who has stopped up, his arms crossed.

“ So, what's the plan?“ she hears Steve ask, and Natasha scratches her temple. Wanda doesn't know what to say, so she elects to stay quiet, as her mind wanders back to that of Clint's. In his sleep, she can sense the quietness of his mind, the calm settling down on him like a blanket. He shall rest well tonight, she thinks.

Natasha nods when she finally figures something out. “Get Clint back out of the field, figure out any way to get back onto Duquesne’s tracks.” She looks at Steve, “You got the name Barney gave you, Ronin’s goon in Monaco?”

Squaring his shoulders, Steve straightens up as he speaks. Wanda notices there's a hint of a blood smear on his shirt, and she realizes he hasn't had time to change yet. Maybe he has noticed it. Maybe not. “Yeah, Eliot Franklin,” he starts before he scratches his eyebrow. “Known as The Clown,” he starts reciting, “Formerly associated with the Circus of Crime, current affiliation unknown, but we think he's got something to do with the Circus of Wonder.”

Natasha focuses on the ground as she listens, and Sam shakes his head. “Circus of Wonder sounds as bad as the Circus of Crime. I thought they merged with Clint's old circus?” he asks, and Natasha takes over.

“ They did, Carson and Tiboldt merged when times got rough,” and as she speaks, her eyes light up. “Wait, did Barney say that Duquesne wasn't pulling the strings on this?”

There's a shift in the mood, and Wanda feels the quietness move to alertness within the blink of an eye. Steve shifts his boy and move to face Natasha. “What are you saying?” he questions at her silence.

Wanda sees her eyes move, sifting through information. Suddenly, Natasha closes her eyes and rubs them with her fingers, trying to settle something. “The goon,” she asks Steve, suddenly pointing at him, as if it's the most important piece of information in the world.

“ He said his name was Eliot Franklin,” Steve replies, sure of himself. Natasha looks from him to Wanda, to Sam, as if it would give her a reply.

She then turns to Clint's closed door and frowns. “I have to ask him about something, I think we missed something important,” she says and suddenly, Wanda feels as if all the warnings that Barney gave them might turn out to be right.

“ He is sleeping,” Wanda states though, motioning to Clint's door with her hand, and Natasha nods.

“ I know, I just need to ask him if that name means anything to him. Sam, you did a background check on him, right?” she then asks, and he nods, affirmative.

“ Yeah, I did, nothing showed up. Eliot Franklin is just another nobody who hasn't done anything wrong in the face of American or other international laws, and all I found that could link him to either Clint or any of the bad guys here is that he once worked for a dude called Tiboldt and that he broke up from his work with them after they disagreed over something in their professional relationship.” He replies, casually. Steve seems as blank as Wanda, but Natasha turns around on her heels, her eyes closed as she thinks through the information, her mind sifting through it at a speed Wanda doesn't even dare imagine.

“ Eliot Franklin, Eliot Franklin… Wait, did you say Tiboldt?”

Sam nods.

“ That's the guy who made the merge between the Circus of Crime and Carson's,” she starts and she puts out her hand, “Steve, I need the tablet,” to what he moves to the side and pulls open the zip on his duffel bag, swiftly making it all the way to the tablet that he keeps there. When he hands it to her, Natasha types in his code without so much as asking him, and when he and Sam exchange a glance, Wanda laughs.

Natasha doesn't look up until she's searched through the databases that she needed to sift through. “Eliot Franklin, also known as The Clown,” she starts reciting off the screen which is lighting her face up in the clear and sharp light of the hospital room, “Worked with Maynard Tiboldt in the Circus of Crime for a long time, as clown, comedian, juggler and unicyclist. They parted ways after the merge, and he became an independent Rogue assassin, working his way through the underground networks, until...” and there, Natasha looks up from the screen as she wants to emphasise this next point.

“ Until he reunited with Tiboldt after having worked on a common mission with Duquesne to retrieve some of Duquesne’s possession from his old childhood home in Asia.”

She turns the tablet to reveal a mugshot, and Wanda nods. “That is him, that is the man Ronin was speaking to in Monaco,” she confirms and Natasha nods.

“ Barney said that Duquesne wasn't pulling the strings on this, but maybe someone else is using him too. Ronin never acted on his own, he's always been bringing messages, but he ultimately failed to kill Clint today,” Natasha explains, “but maybe it's all been a part of a first act in which the reveal will come soon.”

She snaps her fingers before balling up her fist. “This is the Pledge, all of it has been a pledge,” she mutters to herself and this time, Wanda doesn't follow.

“ What is the pledge?”

“What's that?”

Her and Sam have asked at the same time, and Natasha shakes her head again. “I really need to speak to Clint. Or Barney. Or both of them. The pledge, that's what magicians call the first part of their magic tricks, before they turn something into something else, which is the turn. And then, there's the final act called the Prestige, they made an entire movie about it,” she explains as she hands the tablet back to Steve, who goes to put it back into the duffel bag, zipping it closed before he comes back.

“ A magic trick?” he asks, frowning, before he looks at the door, above Natasha's shoulder. “I think Clint's had enough experience with magic for his entire life,” he says, and Natasha nods, but frowns at the same time.

“ Not that kind of magic, this is human magic tricks. Tiboldt was a cheap magician until he decided to turn to the dark side,” she explains.

Wanda turns her head away and goes to sit down. If it isn't Duquesne, if it isn't Ronin, if it isn't Chisholm pulling the strings on all of this, then who is?

She sees Steve looking at her, a worried expression on his face and she nods at him. He nods back. There's a mysterious puppeteer, but it's not Ronin. A faceless leader, who seems to have tangled them all up in an intense game of hide and seek, which could lead to Clint's death.

Wanda thinks back to the farm. To little Nathaniel, sitting on the couch in Clint's favourite spot, munching on his fingers as his teeth hurt his gums. She thinks back to Cooper, who's been trying to follow a recipe with Lila, who has secretly put a little more sugar in the cake than what was supposed to go in there without him seeing. She thinks to Laura, feverish and cold, and probably worried out of her mind.

Yes, Barney's there to help but… Looking up, she watches the door to Clint's room and feels angry and frustrated at herself for letting him get into this mess. He's too selfless, and one day, it's going to get him killed.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo? How did you like it? Tell me.
> 
> Was I too mean with them? I wasn't, that I can tell you, because it gets worse as it goes (believe me). I made moodboards on tumblr for some characters we haven't seen in the MCU yet (probably never will, but I'm allowed to dream, right?) so here goes:   
> [Buck Chisholm as portrayed by Woody Harrelson](http://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/post/133366403882), [Maynard Tiboldt as portrayed by Jean Dujardin (we're meeting him later on in this fic)](http://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/post/133366402757), [Barney Barton as portrayed by Daniel Craig (he has been my fancast forever and I'd die if it happened for real)](http://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/post/133366402647), and finally [Jacques Duquesne as portrayed by Viggo Mortensen. ](http://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/post/133366429172)
> 
> Leave a comment, yell at me and tell me what part made you feel most sorry. Tell me your hypotheses, and tell me all of the emotions you went through with this update. I WANT TO KNOW.
> 
> See you next time?


	5. The Turn - Phase I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something new has come up. What does this mean? What does it mean for the future of the mission? Does this new player mean trouble? And, does this mean that Clint and the New Avengers must face a greater threat than they thought initially?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy readings, my love!   
> As you've noticed, this isn't the Pledge anymore, it's the Turn, aka the let's turn things into a greater magic trick part. The Prestige will come later on, as the story progresses...
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I did writing it!
> 
> (I mention some snakes at the end, so if you're icky about snakes, be warned!)  
> As always, this is a NaNo, so no editing and no rewriting, so any and all typos are my own!

“You shouldn't have gone,” Laura says and Clint makes a face. Steve has been sitting by his side for the better part of the morning, to keep him company and to brief him on what Natasha has managed to dig up.

But, eventually, Clint had asked for his own tablet and made the call to face Laura’s wrath. “I know,” Clint mutters, as he feels stupidly miserable. He's told Steve and the nurses that it's not so much the pain, but the fact that everything that could have gone wrong more or less went wrong.

He bites his lower lip as Laura readjusts Cooper on her lap. It's not that often that the eldest Barton kid sits on her lap, but he'd wanted to speak with his dad today, and Clint can see the worry in his eyes. Cooper’s old enough now, old enough to understand that Clint and the Avengers mean that he might not always make it back in one piece - if he makes it back to begin with.

“Barney's been helping, but it's not the same,” Cooper interrupts and Laura just brushes his fringe away from his face. Clint misses them. He feels utterly miserable, and Steve can see it on his body language. There's nothing worse than seeing a family man away from his family. Especially in these circumstances. He sits back, and tries to read on in his magazine, but he can't help but follow the conversation anyway.

“I know, buddy, but I'll be back soon. Steve has said that he wants Barney to come in and talk about stuff, so we're going to exchange places,” Clint tries to reassure, but Cooper just makes a face.

The kid moves his head away from Laura’s hand as she tries to stroke his hair, before he speaks again. “When's that going to happen?”

Clint looks up above the tablet at Steve,  to make sure he's got it right. “Three days?” Steve nods, “Yeah, it'll be three days.”

The sound isn't the best in the world - not the tablet’s fault Tony always insists, but the fault of the crappy Internet in Clint's little farm - but the loud cry for ‘dada’ can't go mistaken. Clint smiles as he sees small hands at the bottom of the screen reaching up to Laura, to get picked up. Cooper slides off Laura’s thigh and makes room for Nathaniel, who wiggles himself into place against Laura’s breast, like he always does.

“Hey there, lil bud,” Clint smiles, and Steve feels his own heart warm at the crinkles that spread on Clint's face when Nathaniel starts talking about something in his own baby language. It's a very potent feeling, and as Steve watches Clint, looking up from his magazine, he wonders if he'll ever find that same peace. Clint and him were never the same, they would never be, but sometimes, he wonders if he could ever settle and have a life the way Clint does. He knows that Clint is 44, he's not going to be in the field forever - his body isn't the same as it was at 20, no matter how many times he insists it still is.

Cooper bends forward and looks into the camera. “Dad, just make it home before Barney makes pasta again.” Off camera, Barney laughs.

“I heard that, kiddo,” his voice echoes, and Clint rolls his eyes.

“I told you to take care of them, not fatten them up like the evil witch did to Hansel and Gretel,” he snarks, and Nathaniel lets out an amused whine. Laura has been quiet, letting them all speak. When Barney's hand appear on Cooper’s shoulder to lead him away, Clint pushes himself a bit more upright in his hospital bed and adjusts the angle of the tablet so it sits a bit better.

“I'll be home in three days,” he states again, as Nathaniel starts drooling on Laura’s shirt again, three fingers in his mouth. “Nat’s going to fly me back home, that way she'll make sure that nobody follows us.” He goes quiet for a while, and she takes the opportunity to speak up.

“She said it's Maynard,” Laura says, the worry creeping into her lips. “That true?”

Steve recognizes her perfectly now, both strong and weak, independent and reliable. Clint nods. They're not sure it's actually Tiboldt, but they're getting there, and all the evidence seems to line up towards him. “We think so,” he starts and he takes a deep breath, his smile fading in favor of a pained expression as his hand moves to the spot where bandages are keeping the stitches from being exposed to the air. “Barney said it wasn't Duquesne to begin with, and turns out he's right because the one goon who was with Ronin in Monaco is actually Eliot Franklin,” he explains, frowning. “Remember him? He did that juggling act right after I went off stage,” and Laura nods.

“He was a creepy guy,” she says, and Nathaniel arches his head back to look up at his mother. Clint can't help but smile and chuckle at his youngest son’s profile, recognizing his own nose. “He used to do the thing with the knives too, where he'd throw them higher and higher,” she reminisces, and Clint nods.

“Oh, right. He missed that one night, right?” She nods, so he goes on. “He caught the knife by the blade and it almost cut his hand in half,” he adds, looking up from the tablet at Steve who has given up pretending to read. He's not exactly listening in on the conversation, he's just sort of there, listening and learning. He doesn't want to leave, and Clint has told him it's fine to stay there. As long as Laura and Clint don't get more personal with each other, Steve doesn't mind either.

“It took him five months to get over it, but by then Carson had thrown him out,” Clint explains, as he blinks. “Got picked up by Tiboldt and taught how to steal things from good people,” he comments and Laura chortles.

“You're the one talking, Hawkeye,” she starts, before she bends forward, keeping Nathaniel secured in her arms, before whispering, “you've killed people after you robbed them, hardly a better deal,” and to that, Clint can't help but crack a wide smile, his teeth shining and the delighted squeal that comes from Nathaniel tells Steve that Nathaniel thought the smile was meant for him.

“Anyway, come back in one piece, alright?” she asks, as Nathaniel turns around on her lap (pressing a flat hand on her breast, to what Clint smiles innocently), to make it down from his seated position.

“I'll be back home soon,” Clint says, before kissing his fingers and pressing them to the screen of the tablet. Laura does the same, and the connection interrupts as she presses the red button.

Leaning his head back against the wall, Clint closes his eyes. He stays like that for a couple of seconds before looking down at Steve. “I'm sorry I couldn't help you guys out,” he finally says in a huff, and Steve can see that the happiness that filled Clint's face just a couple of seconds ago is long gone.

“Hey, it's not your fault Clint,” Steve says, as he stands up to come and be by his side, taking the tablet from Clint. The IV drip is still getting antibiotics and a painkiller into Clint's system, as the upper stitch developed a slight infection the day before. “You did plenty already,” he finishes, as he puts his hands in his pockets, Clint shaking his face.

“I'm getting too old for this,” Clint mutters, and at that, Steve doesn't reply immediately, and when Clint looks up, a half amused look on his face, Steve knows the half second it took him to think up an answer was enough for Clint. “Don't even say it, you didn't reply immediately. You're just thinking of a nice way to tell me that I'm not, but just-” Clint shrugs.

“Just don't,” he finally says, shaking his head, as if he's disappointed in himself. “My shoulder hurts, and I couldn't even make it out of the first field trip I've had in months without getting stabbed,” he continues, and Steve wants him to shut it.

But he doesn't, because this is one of those times where it's best to let it all out. Wanda and Natasha have gone to investigate the crime scene, to find any clues left behind by Duquesne and Ronin, and Rhodey has gone back to upstate New York to look after the trainees which have come in. Sam has been patrolling the area incognito, trying to make sure nobody made it to Clint. So it's just him and Clint.

It's always been something that they kept thinking about. None of them are getting younger, and Steve can see it around him. His new team, Vision, James, Wanda, Natasha and Sam are a good replacement for the old one. Thor is gone most of the time, handling things that they cannot even begin to comprehend. Tony is working away with Pepper, trying to run his company to the best, trying to handle politicians and a new market for peace. Bruce is still missing, having gone underground and not having left from that place in a long time.

And that leaves Clint. Clint, who like Nick Fury and Peggy Carter, belonged to SHIELD before the world of magic and Greater Wars. Clint, the SHIELD agent who grew up and was formed within the time SHIELD went from Carter's leadership to Pierce’s, and who's seen the greater part of his life play out before him.

Sure, there's still Maria and Sharon and all the others, but Steve knows that Clint had always been close to Nick. And, with the collapse of SHIELD, Steve knows that Clint got seriously hit. Not physically, but in his mind. Just like Nick. Steve has been speaking with Peggy about Clint, about Nick. She's always spoken fondly of them both, and it's dawned upon Steve that modern day SHIELD is based on the three pillars that they are. But they're all on the verge out.

Peggy is an old lady, barely holding onto life, finally free by Steve’s amends. Nick, a spy of the old world, trying to salvage what he can from the ashes and bring espionage back into a fight he's bound to lose. Clint, the top Agent who'd shared his views and thoughts with the Director, trying to steer everything in the right direction, the agent who'd been trying to stay with their true intentions.

As he looks at Clint now, his previously laughing crinkled eyes gone cold, veiled by sadness and disappointment… He knows that it's only a matter of time before Clint's retirement becomes permanent. He knows that it's only a matter of time before Natasha comes home one day and says that Clint won't be coming back out onto the field this time.

“Natasha will help you guys out,” Clint finally says, as he puts his hand at his side, motioning to Steve’s matching wound. “I have to go back to where I belong,” he finishes with a dry smile.

Steve nods. “Your call, Hawkeye.”

It comes out a bit harsher than he'd intended, and when he's made it out the door to the corridor, he realizes that Clint could understand it as him asking him to stay and not leaving, condoning his choice to go back to his family. But he doesn't go back in, because he knows it's best to leave it at that. Clint is a part of this as much as they all are, but right now? It's best to get him back out of immediate danger.

* * *

The day that Natasha flies Clint out is a day that goes by in a grey haze.

It's not exactly the usual feeling after a lost battle, but it's close to it. Clint had come out to help them get their hands on more clues, and as his vital signs had degraded as the antibiotics didn't work, his fever catching on, they'd all sat, waiting, in the cold and deserted hallways of the hospital.

They'd watched him go from cheeky to pale, wordless. The nurses came to change his bandage, and Sam had witnessed them do it on the second day. The infection that spurred out of the wound filled the room with a smell that made him almost sick to his stomach, but he'd stayed there. During the time it took to change the bandages, they'd given Clint laughter gas to take most of the pain.

Wanda couldn't bear to be in the same room as Clint. It was on the fourth day that his condition finally got better, as the fever disappeared and the wound finally started closing properly, as they removed the bandages to clean it.

The quietness in the hotel room is the mute witness to their miserable failure at getting ahead of this mission. Ronin was in the wind, Duquesne was in the wind, Natasha's leads on Tiboldt and Franklin had turned out to be but breadcrumbs leading to a burnt down card house which had crumbled long ago.

They sit in the hotel room. Wanda has been going out into town, to get her mind off things. Sam's been trying to get another point of view, another entry point at all the clues they've got lined up, but it feels strangely desperate for them. They're grasping for anything, anything that might help them on their way, but nothing seems to come up.

Nothing.

With a frustrated yell, Sam throws the paperwork off the table, clearing it with his arm in rage. He stands up and balls up his hands into fists, angry at himself, at the world, at all the others.

James’ head pops up at the sight of the paperwork making its way to the floor. “Something is going to pop up,” he says, sure of himself. Sam wets his lips in frustration.

James had flown back out after finishing a training session with the recruits, getting Sharon to take them in charge in his absence.

“What if it doesn't?” he asks, and he doesn't want to sound like he's despairing, but it's getting harder to concentrate on the task at hand. They've been holed up in this shit hole for days now, not knowing if Clint was going to be able to make it home, and nothing has come their way. Nothing. Not a threat, not a laugh, not a word from the people behind this.

“What if nothing shows up, and Clint has to stay at his farm hiding forever?” he asks, snapping at James who just frowns.

“They always make a mistake, there's always one point where something happens, and suddenly, all the parts click into place,” James comments, and Sam lets out a frustrated and heavy sigh.

“Not good enough.”

The sound of the door slamming shut as he exits the room makes Steve come out of the bathroom with a frown on his face. “We’d better get back to headquarters, get Barney there to talk. See if there's any way we can get word out that we need help. Or a clue. Anything,” he says and James nods.

He gazes up at the War Machine armor, that he's keeping in the hotel room at all times, and purses his lips. Wanda hasn't been home for a while, Sam just left to let off some steam, Natasha will stay by Clint's side until he's good, and bring back Barney to their headquarters. It would be nice to have Vision there, he thinks. Or just bring Tony in, to get some sort of help.

* * *

There is an eerie quietness to it all.

It's like the silent drums of anticipation have made themselves known and are just waiting to hit the target.

Clint hasn't move from the barn in over an hour, pulling the string of his bow back, letting arrows fly, doing it again. Over, and over, and over again.

Natasha has flown him back out, and he'd been restless during the entire flight. Natasha has seen him like this before, so when he finally made it home and went straight for the barn rather than walk into the home and face the kids that he definitely wasn't ready to face, she hadn't said anything.

She knows it can be too overwhelming to face three kids, one of them a toddler, after one’s entire world has crumbled.

Clint pulls back the string of the bow with the highest draw weight he has, an 80 pound Mathews Apex 7 bound. It's the same one he used in Puente Antiguo, when Coulson had him aim at Thor. As he reaches the let off point where the 80 pounds transform into a more bearable draw weight, he settles and focuses on his body. The small sight that's fixed on the handle of the bow settles against the smallest yellow spot on the target which sits at over 60 feet away, and he puts up his thumb onto the clicker.

The string sits against his anchor point, right below his jaw, and he focuses. His breathing settles, his hand on the handle relaxes, and his chest strengthens. And, as soon as he lets go of the string by clicking on the release of the clicker, the arrow sets off and lands in the tiniest yellow circle. It's not spot on, pushing in the small cross that marks dead center, but it's still in there. In the 10+.

Clint sighs, pulls out an arrow from the quiver around his hips, settles it against the holder on the handle, and clicks it onto the string, before locking the clicker delicately around the string, lifting the weapon with an extended arm, and pulling back with all his strength.

He cries out the instant the pain tears through his shoulder, and releases the clicker which sends the arrow flying way too high. He lets go of the clicker itself, lets go of the bow which he lies down on the table next to him, and goes to sit on the foldable chair he's set up not too far.

The pain is throbbing in his arm, from his neck muscles all the way down to his elbow, and as he moves his fingertips, he feels the burning sensation propagate to his fingertips. He clenches his teeth together as he arches his back, hoping it'll help him go through the pain, moaning in pain as another wave hits him. He extends his arm in spite of the sensation, clenches and unclenches his fingers, and shakes his hand.

The burning sensation fades slightly, but as soon as he bends forward to let off some of the pull on his shoulder, he hears something come from behind.

He manages to move slightly to the side just as the fist that had been directed at him hits him in the shoulder, right under the shoulder blade. He cries out in pain again, as he hits the floor, taken by surprise. It's not a graceful fall, as he rams into the concrete floor with all his weight, and as he does, he feels the pull on the stitches in his side.

“Get up,” he hears, and Clint spits at the floor, coughing, getting the air back into his lungs.

He looks up, and as he recognizes Barney he spits again, before drying his chin on the back of his hand. “What the fuck, Barney?” he barks, and this time Barney doesn't give an answer, but rather moves to kick Clint in the stomach, pushing the foldable chair away.

Clint rolls away, the pain tearing at his arm and at his ribs, but manages to avoid the hit. He rolls and pushes himself up again, a quick move to get to his feet, as Barney turns on his feet and follows him with a punch. Clint stands up and catches Barney’s fist in his hand, echoing the gesture with one of his own, landing a jab in Barney's kidney, which makes him push back.

Clint stands up, dazed, the pain kicking in and as the endorphins and the adrenaline release in his body, the solution to his problem seems to be the same foldable chair he's just been punched off. He grabs it, and with a quick kick with the knee manages to get it folded, before he lifts it up, grabs it by the feet and swings it at Barney, who manages to move to the side.

It's a miss, and the momentum makes Clint lose his balance, so he lets go of the chair as he avoids the table, and he picks up one of the arrows which have fallen to the floor from his quiver, taking it in his hand as he would a knife. “Seriously, Barney?!” he yells again, and Barney kicks the chair out of his way, a determined look on his face.

“Focus,” the older Barton yells, as he attacks Clint again, not giving him time to reprieve. They're both equally fast, and Clint always seems to forget that Barney himself has been trained in the same arts as him, and it's probably also why Barney has managed to stay out of Hydra’s bases this far. As they dance around each other, Clint feels the pain start to throb in his arm and his breath getting shorter and shorter. It's been too long since he had a proper sparring session, that he sees now.

Barney, however, isn't ready to stop yet. He moves in again, avoids Clint's arrow and rips it out of his hand by grabbing it and pulling - the feathers cut through the skin on Clint's palm as he does so, and the new pain adds to the previous ones in Clint's brain, clouding his judgement.

As he moves back, onto the archery range to stay out of Barney's reach, he tries to find a way out, at the same time as his brain tries to understand what is going on. Has Barney lost it? Is this something else? Is he dreaming? Or is it a memory?

A hit lands on his jaw, and he hears his teeth clack together with the impact, before he makes it to his knees. Something makes it to his throat, and as he focuses on Barney, he sees that it's an arrow.

“If I was Captain America, I'd have won now,” Barney says, as he drops the arrow to the floor. It clatters, before rolling away. Clint's head is swimming, and he can feel something warm on his side.

“You're bleeding,” Barney then says, as he moves forward and pulls Clint up by grabbing him under the arms, settling some of Clint's weight on himself, as he helps his brother over to the table. He pushes the bow down to the floor, to what Clint makes a whining sound. “Oh shut up, it's seen worse,” Barney states as he manages to lie Clint down on it.

He pulls the shirt up, and the state of the stitches on Clint's side make him frown. “You sure this is the time to do this?” he asks, but Clint's body is flooding him with endorphins and he's unable to answer. Barney turns around, smearing the blood he's gotten on his fingers on his shirt, and heads over to one of the higher cabinets, pulling out a first aid kit.

He pulls a pair of scissors out, before he takes the needle and the thread out. He lays the cold scissors on Clint's stomach as he expertly inserts the thread in the needle hole, and watches Clint's chest rise and fall. “We can wait, there's still time,” but Clint shakes his head, as he focuses on his breathing, trying to regain control of his body.

“No, it's gotta be now,” Clint says, through forced breaths, and Barney cuts the previous stitches, pulling them out with one of the tweezers from the first aid kit. Then, as he puts down the scissors again and takes the needle in his left hand, he shakes his head. “You're in no state to do this,” he mutters, as he inserts the needle into Clint's skin, to which there's close to no reaction.

It takes him a couple of seconds to stitch everything back, and taking one of the sterile pads, he pours some of the yellowish betaine over the wound to clean it, before applying another pad to make it stay so. “Don't you dare think I didn't see you before either, your shoulder is getting bad again,” he mutters, quickly, going to throw out the used medical utensils.

There's a knock on the door, and Barney looks up. The door opens, and he breathes out when he sees Natasha's face. Barney motions to Clint lying on the table, a sheen of sweat covering his face. “He's not good to go for this,” Barney says, shaking his head and Natasha comes close.

Her faces drops as she sees Clint looking up from the floor at her, and the cheesy smile he offers her doesn't help. “You can't do this now,” she says and Clint sighs again, seemingly feeling a little better.

Barney rolls his eyes. “Let me do it,” he adds and Natasha shakes her head.

“No, we said it was best if it was Clint this time, it's gotta be him,” she corrects, and Clint nods, if not firmly, but surely. “We gotta get him back to the house as soon as he's not sweating anymore, Laura is asking for him and Nathaniel is yelling for him,” she states and Clint lets out a sigh.

Barney pushes back his shoulders to make his neck crack, before he throws back his head to make his vertebrae crack too. “This is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous,” but then he lifts his head and meets Natasha's gaze.

Clint pushes himself to a lying position on his good side, before pushing himself to a sitting position. “It's what we agreed to do,” he huffs, and Barney sighs, again.

“I know, but it's ridiculous.”

She'd flown Barney back with her. Or gotten him to fly back with her, as Steve had instructed. The trip had been awkward - her dislike for the older Barton brother was palpable, and there was no way for her to let him out of her sight.

He was dishonest and mischievous, in that way that borders dangerous. But not to her, and not to those he knew to respect. No, Barney Barton was dishonest in ways that would give him the advantage on a situation, and he was, most of all, a selfish human being. She knows that him helping them out isn't because he wants to help out of his own good will.

It's because, as he's stated many times before, if and when the time comes for one of the Barton brothers to die, he wants to be the one to put an arrow or a bullet through Clint's head. She knows Clint feels the same way, because of all that has happened.

And so, the entire fact that he is helping out here also feels like he ultimately expects to have some sort of favor to play on in the future. She doesn't mind, because she knows Clint can handle himself (or something like that), but the fact that Barney is there, expecting something in return, irks her.

As they're driving from the airport and up to the New Avengers headquarters, her behind the wheel and him having thrown a cap over his face to get some rest, she can't help but wonder at all of this.

It all started with Petit having gone missing, Petit who is now dead. She can't help but feel disgusted at the idea, but she knows it was probably for the best. (If not for the widow and the two kids he left behind, then for the organisation he was helping find fundings for with his money making skills). Then, it had all converged to Clint and his past, his past with Tiboldt, Duquesne and Chisholm.

Barney lets out a loud snore, and she chuckles to herself. Even when he's sleeping, he is managing to get on her nerves. Her eyes drift from the road onto him, and she can't help but let out a deep breath she hadn't known she'd been keeping. It's not like having Clint beside her, but it's close. She knows Barney is handy with a gun, and he's handy with a bow and arrow too, trained by Chisholm himself, years after having left the circus, and that he knows hand to hand well enough to be of help.

She'd spoken with Steve about it too, the way Barney held himself. Everything about him was false. The fact that he appeared to be stupider than he intended to be, the same way Clint sometimes toned down his intelligence because he thought nobody would pay attention to him. Like the way he'd told Natasha about the Tesseract being a doorway when the first disruptions in her energy had started, and when he'd turned out to be right, Natasha had known yet again, the Barton boys are cleverer than most of them would think.

Clint not having finished any sort of school or education - not even SHIELD’s Academy - didn't mean that he was stupid. By far. He didn't know or understand most of the equations Tony Stark and Bruce Banner would write up on a wall, but given the adequate variables and enough Intel, he would figure things out on his own. She'd seen him do maths by head before, and was always impressed when he managed to figure out things and times and money conversions as he did.

She presses on the brakes extra hard when she drives into the parking lot, causing Barney to push against the seat belt and move in shock as he mutters curses under his breath.

“Wakey Wakey,” Natasha says, as she sets the car in Park and removes the key from the ignition. She unhooks the seat belt and pushes the door open, getting out. There are a lot of cars there, and the time it makes Barney to make it out of the car, she's already noticed that Sam's car is there, alongside Steve’s motorbike and her own Harley-Davidson LiveWire.

She smiles at the fond memories the electric bike have given her, and when Barney shuts the door of the car with his foot and she locks it, she walks up and puts a hand on the leather seat of the bike. It's hers alright, and nobody else's. Barney whistles at it, like some idiot would a pretty girl on the street.

“Pretty,” he comments and she looks over her shoulder, daring him to make a comment.

“I like Cap’s bike better though,” he adds and she shrugs, raising her shoulders nonchalantly.

“I'll still drive when we run out of gas,” she snarks back, as she walks through the automatic glass doors which opened when the sensors picked up on her. The facial recognition software Stark implemented in the building is quite fashionable and easy to work with, which is why the fact that Ronin, a masked individual, being able to break in here makes Natasha increasingly worried.

She walks through the entrance hall, and moves past a group of trainees who have just returned home from their run. They gawk at Barney who doesn't seem fazed in the least, and when they make it to one of the side corridors, she feels more comfortable.

“Steve wants to ask some questions,” she says, and she pushes the door open, waiting for Barney to walk in before she follows him there.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Steve grabs her attention by speaking to her. “We have a situation,” he says, and her mind focuses on the screen behind him. Barney has moved to the side, settling his shoulder again the wall and looking at what is on the screen.

“Talk to me,” Natasha states, and Sam takes over.

“Got this right before you walked through the front doors,” he explains, as he taps away on the keyboard connected to the screen. A blurred picture shows up, and as the computer loads, Natasha's heart moves up to her throat. It's a security footage still, taken from inside a police van, showing someone with a black fabric bag around their head.

Sam zooms in on the picture, to writing on the wall behind the figure. “It's Clint,” he finally says, and this time, Natasha's heart drops ten inches in her chest, her hand moving to her mouth. She recognizes the bloody pattern on his shirt, the same bleeding that Barney had caused.

“When was this taken? What's the signature of the file?” she asks, and Steve moves out of the way to let her access a keyboard. On one of the smaller screens, she pulls up the file information, and through some typing accesses the main date of creation and she frowns as Sam points to it.

“It says it's less than an hour old,” and Steve looks at Barney.

“They must've done this while you were still in the air, and waited for you guys to make it here before they published it,” he says, and Barney pushes himself off the wall and comes closer. Natasha moves from the keyboard to let him have a look.

“What do you think? That him?” she asks, and Barney nods.

“Yep, that's him. See the bleeding? It's where he's got the stitches. And, there's that scar right above his left elbow,” Barney indicates, as he lifts his finger to show it on the picture. “What does the graffiti behind him say?” he asks, turning to look at Sam.

“That if we don't come and get him, he'll be dead by midnight tonight,” Sam quickly says, as the quality of the picture loads, allowing both Natasha and Barney to read it for themselves. It's written in blood. A cold feeling spreads through Natasha's stomach, and she nods to herself, to keep herself focused.

“Alright, Barney, you gotta help us. This Duquesne?” Steve asks, and Barney shakes his head.

“No, he wouldn't. This is too theatrical, it's too much of a  _mise en scène_ , they're setting up the stage. It's the final reveal, this isn't Jacques, no,” he starts as he shakes his head, unable to believe it himself. The realization has dawned on him now too. “It's Maynard Tiboldt, that's for sure,” he states.

“Pull up a sample of his writing on his last testimony,” he says, at Natasha, motioning to the screen, where she finds the file quickly enough, going through three keywords before it appears on screen. “Can you get the computer to cross reference that writing and the one on the wall?”

She does it as he says it. The computer blinks green when it tells them it's a 97% match, and Barney nods. “You gotta know, this guy is insane. He's got this thing where everything is meant to impress, to put on a show,” he starts, as he moves to the side again, as if him being the source of information feels uncomfortable suddenly. “He was the leader of the Circus of Crime, the one that we worked for when we did those thefts and other jobs with Chisholm and Duquesne,” he keeps on going, as he motions to the screen, where the screenshot of Clint is still up.

“This was never going to be a quiet death, it's supposed to be a final act. The final bouquet, as he used to say,” Barney states, suddenly ominous. Natasha's skin starts to crawl, and she can feel the hairs on her arms rising. The goosebumps are a bad sign. “It's not going to be discreet. If you go in there, he's going to go all in. It's a show, the world is a never-ending show for him,” he finishes as he wets his lips, the first sign that he's truly worried this time.

Natasha and Steve exchange a glance. “We gotta go in and get Clint,” they say, almost simultaneously, and Sam looks from the one to the other.

“Anyone checked up on Laura and the kids?” he asks, and at this Barney lets out a loud ‘Fuck!’ before he pulls out his phone and dials Laura’s number. He moves out of the room to get some quiet, and right after the door has closed behind him, it's as if someone pressed a play button.

“Sam, find the origin of that screenshot, we haven't got much time. Natasha, rally in those you can get, some of the better recruits, we'll need some sort of backup, or any of the SHIELD guys you trust,” Steve says, and both Sam and Natasha start working at the same time.

Barney comes into the room, phone in hand, a haunted look on his face. “Laura says Clint never made it back from getting the kids from school,” he starts, as he swallows the spit in his mouth, “and that they've just found Cooper and Lila in a parking lot at the other end of town, where they'd been locked into a car which was apparently rigged to blow. ”

And with that, everyone starts moving almost immediately.

* * *

The initial adrenaline rush that made its way through Steve’s body is wearing off, and with his mind calming down to figure out and look at this clearly, he can't help himself but look over at the other people around him.

Natasha has changed into her stealth suit as well, the blue lights humming and her batons ready to go, her bites ready to do just that, and the look on her face as drawn as he's ever seen her.

Sam is wearing his suit as well, the wings neatly folded into the mechanics of the system on his back, his entire figure screaming that he is ready to go for it. He's the one piloting the jet. Clint had taught him the more advanced flight techniques, and he was putting that to good use - how to use wind to speed up, how to reach higher up in the upper atmosphere for a path free from civilian air traffic. All those things that seemed obvious once you had thought about them, but needed to figure out by yourself.

Looking to the side, Steve watches Barney. They've equipped him with one of the stealth suits they've kept from SHIELD, and without the ragged clothing, the expensive (and ugly) gold watch on his wrist… Well, he looks different entirely, and now, Steve can see just how close him and Clint actually are to each other.

Barney looks like he's been made to fit one of those suits - the boots and their thick soles changing his stature a little bit, forcing his back straight up, his shoulders arched, the knee and elbow pads spotting the suit. The cargo pants are black, with a holster on the thigh, but they haven't given him a gun yet. Natasha will stand for that as soon as they touch down. The jacket he's wearing has the SHIELD logo on the left side of the breast, and the army gloves they've managed to find fit Barney perfectly.

This is what Barney looked like and felt like when he was in the army and the FYI, wasn't it? Steve can't help himself but wonder. No wonder that he's been able to keep himself off the radars for so long, and managed to protect himself by all the most vile people in the world.

“We've got a fix on Clint's location,” Sam barks, loud enough to mute out any other sound, and Natasha straps a gun to her own thigh. Steve looks at the clouds that they're diving into, as Natasha finds a gun in her duffel and hands it to Barney.

Steve wonders if he has any other weapon concealed on him, but then he remembers that it's Clint's brother. He probably does. (He probably is a weapon himself, too).

“Let's go get him,” Natasha mutters as they dip down just below the clouds, and heavy raindrops start smacking against the aircraft. It almost sounds like bullets, and as Sam veers to the left, the three of them catch something to hold onto. Barney moves his feet apart to equalize his weight and his balance, his eyes fixed on the door. Like that, Steve thinks, he is just like Barton.

When the jet reaches its landing altitude, Sam flicks on the automatic pilot and stands up, to wait for the mechanic trap door to open. As soon as it does, thrusters keeping the engine steady, he's the first out the door, followed by Steve who jumps and catches himself on the ground by rolling. Natasha throws a rope partway down and slides down it, and Barney follows Steve’s method, jumping the last few feet and catching himself by rolling onto his shoulder and pushing up again.

Sam flies back as quick as he makes a round of the area, and lands next to them. “Except for three heat signatures in the circus tent there, there’s nobody here,” he states and Steve nods.

“Could be cloaking their heat with HYDRA based stealth suits,” Barney comments, and Natasha's lower lips turn into a smile.

Sam frowns as the wings fold back behind him, and he settles next to Steve. “They had that?” he asks, and Barney simply nods, as if it's the most banal piece of information he's come up with for the entire trip.

“Widow, Falcon, enter through the sides, if there aren't any entry spots, make some, Trickshot, make your way to the back, meet us all in the middle,” Steve commands, and they all move to their posts.

Sam runs to the Northernmost point of the tent, Natasha to the Southernmost. The entry is directly in front of them, and Barney has to run into a steady and quiet spring to make it to the Easternmost point.

Steve watches Barney running, and is unsurprised when the older Barton makes as little noise as the two others. They'd also agreed to use his former field name, Trickshot, rather than call him Barton for fear of mixing up with Clint. (Whom they had called Hawkeye during the mission briefing).

“Widow, Falcon, positions?” he asks into the com on his wrist, and the replies in his ear confirm his internal countdown. “Trickshot?” he then asks, and Barney's voice confirming position gives him the final signal to move to the entry point.

He gives the tent a one over, and moves to the side of the entrance, before sneaking in past it. He stays close to the walls, not willing to turn himself into a target. He doesn't want to get shot by any sort of equipment, and if the three heat signatures (if there aren't more that have cloaked themselves) are in there, his best guess is that it's Ronin, this Maynard guy and Clint.

“On my count,” he says into the com, and promptly starts a countdown from three, to two, to one… And he barges into the sawdust filled arena. But the others don't follow through. He barges in, shield in hand, and realizes that Clint isn't one of the people there.

Natasha, Sam and Barney aren't making a peep, and it's only when he sees the man in the middle open his arms in a sorry gesture that he realizes what must have happened. Ronin is to his left, Duquesne to his right.

They cut his communications off. But how?

Almost as if he can read his thoughts, the man in the middle, definitely Maynard Tiboldt wearing that horrible and ugly top hat, smiles and speaks. “No signal in here,” he says, and Steve can't place the accent. “Not after you passed through the scramblers we've sewn into the tent,” he explains as he motions to the circular sewing at the bottom of the tent.

Steve’s eyes dart from one to the other, trying to calculate the risk and the threat. Ronin carries the sword on his back, and the probable other hidden  blades on his body. The mask still covers his face, and as this is the third time he's encountered him, Steve can't help but feel the fear crippling down his spine. It's a gutting fear, the response of the body as it recognizes something that has harmed it.

“Cat got your tongue?” Tiboldt says, and exchanges a glance with Duquesne who simply laughs out. They both burst into laughter, a fake laughter, before it abruptly comes to an end.

“Your friends are kept busy. It's a shame you brought the wrong Barton with you, Steve Rogers,” Tiboldt says as he takes some steps forward. He's using a cane to steady his walking, and there is not a single second where Steve doesn't realize the cane is probably a weapon of some kind too. “I'm sad to say, there is no hostage,” he sing songs, much the same way Duquesne had in Canada. Duquesne steps forward and takes over.

“It was all a trick, to get you out of your comfort zone and see just how far you're willing to go.”

Duquesne’s French accent is unmistakable, and as Tiboldt holds his hands up to his face in what is childish delight, Steve rolls his eyes. “Clint’s too good at hide and seek, so you have to play stupid tricks?” he says, and Tiboldt’s eyes grow cold.

“It's not a trick,” he answers and points over his shoulder to Ronin, who slowly reaches up for his sword. “It was never a trick,” he continues, as the sword glimmers in the light.

“Eliot Franklin, my faithful clown accompanied Ronin to find you the first time,” he explains, before he rocks his head to each side, as if the entire tale is boring. “Then, we gave Wanda Maximoff things to think about in Canada, didn't we?” he asks, and Ronin nods.

Compared to the two circus artists, the masked swordsman is eerily quiet. Steve knows that the greater threat is Ronin himself, but Duquesne trained Clint, and Tiboldt isn't exactly the safest person in the room either.

“What have you done to the others?” Steve asks, and Tiboldt lets out a huff.

“I haven't done anything. But my artists have,” he laughs, amused at his own artist comment. “Aren't you an artist yourself, Steve Rogers?” he asks, and Steve nods.

“The drawing kind,” he answers, flatly, coolly.

“Ah,  _il dessine_ ,” Tiboldt tells Duquesne and they exchange a glance as if Steve has just brought in a bad report card. “Drawing is for the weak ones,” he says, before he takes another step in Steve’s direction.

Steve, however, isn't in the playing mood. “If Hawkeye isn't here, then where is he?”

There's a silence, and the guttural laughter he's come to associate with Duquesne echoes. “Of all the things to ask,” the Frenchman says, and moves away from Ronin.

“We don't know,” Tiboldt says, emphasizing the word know as if he were a child throwing a tantrum. “Which is why we brought you here,” he continues, in the same childish tone. “Ronin here stabbed your friend good, didn't he? But not for the show, no, never, the show must go on and it must finish in a grand bouquet, so, I thought, let us get his friends out and play. Let us see if he makes it out of hiding again if we manage to break his friends!”

The delight that spreads in Tiboldt’s voice concerns Steve. For as long as they keep mentioning tricks and dirty tricks, he doesn't feel like he has the upper hand.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Me? Nothing. Jacques, what are you going to do?”

“Nothing either. It's going to be our good friend Ronin here,” he says, moving back, to be at Ronin’s side.

“Did you know, that Ronin here isn't even after Clint himself?” Duquesne explains. “He's in it because he wants to be the one who killed an Avenger.” He moves his head to the side. “And no, before you say it, Ultron was a machine. Ronin here wants to be the first human to kill an Avenger,” he smirks, and Steve's heart almost stops.

How do they know about Pietro? How do they know who killed him? Killing Clint isn't the endgame, and now the threat that forms in Steve’s mind is even greater. If Ronin, the only Rogue player in the room, decides that it's enough of playing along with these two freaks, then he will become the real danger.

“Do you even know who hides beneath the mask?” he asks, to stall. Maybe one of his partners will make it to him before the fight breaks out.

“We don't need to know. He's presented proof of how dead he wishes one of you, that's enough for us,” Duquesne laughs.

And with that, Tiboldt moves to the side. “Let the show begin.”

* * *

The fight that meets Sam on his way in is as surprising as it is harsh. He walks in, fully prepared to meet some sort of retaliation, but the traps he walks straight into is as basic as it if efficient.

All it took was a rope around his foot, and he's dangling upside down, having to face a monster of a man who seems intent on knocking him out. He's managed to open the wings which give him thrust upwards, allowing him to regain his usual balance, but in doing so he's exposed himself and a thrown projectile hits his head. He diverts to the side but the rope he's fastened to the ground with keeps him from leaving and as he tries to push with his thrusters to break it off they pull him further and further down, like they would a kite dancing in a storm.

* * *

The fight that meets Natasha is a stealthy one, because as soon as she walks into the tent after having untied some of the rope keeping it fastened to the mast, she's greeted by a King Cobra, full aware of her and keeping its eyes on her. There's nobody else there, and as she takes a step back to avoid the snake, she realizes there is another one to her left, which she recognizes as a large anaconda. Her eyes focus on the right, and there she sees an African black mamba.

Instinctively, Natasha pulls out her gun, with a slow movement. The hissing coming from the snakes’ mouths make her nervous, because this isn't manipulation. She can't fight them. If the Sub-Saharan Black snake bites her, she's dead within 15 minutes, serum in her body or not. If the anaconda decides to attack her and choke her, she's dead within 20 minutes, whether she manages to land a shot or not. If the Cobra decides to strike, she'll be paralyzed and die soon enough.

* * *

The fight that greets Barney is one he recognizes almost immediately. It's Eliot Franklin himself who's decided to greet him, and as the two recognize each other, Barney decides to go for the assault immediately. However, as he pulls out the gun, the Clown has thrown one of his knives at him, cutting him at the arm. The pain makes Barney drop the gun, and as he moves to the side to avoid an incoming boot to the side of his face, he can't help but notice that his com has gone off.

God, he hates the Circus of Crime so fucking much. The Clown, in full makeup, which would be terrifying if Barney wasn't used to it, attacks with a boot to his stomach and there's some sort of difficulty added when he decides to do a double Salto away and gain some distance. They both look at the gun on the ground, and as Barney decides that it's useless, the Clown decides otherwise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Tell me.  
> What was your favorite part? What character do you think is going to make it out? And, tell me what you think of Maynard? Isn't he an ass? I hate him. What do you think is going to happen now? I know what's going to happen, but I want to hear what you think is going to happen...


	6. The Turn - Phase II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faced with the remnants of the Circus of Crime, the New Avengers, teaming up with Barney Barton, must face their own battles. When the fight is over, it's time for questions and self exploration. But how does that work? Can they still trust each other? Can they trust Clint, who seems to be the key player in the case?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback on this never stops amazing me, and I can't help but smile every single time I see this fic mentioned, or I get a notification that new comment has been posted. I'm so happy and thrilled that you guys are still reading, and that I haven't lost you along the way.
> 
> As usual, any typos and mistakes are my own.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

“You're going to let another man fight your fight?” Steve states as Duquesne and Maynard move to the side. They're not in the least interested in fighting him, and they've let Ronin move forward, as they apparently want to make an exit.  
“Well, it's not like we don't want to,” Tiboldt states a wry smile on his face, “But it's not you we want. We're going on a hunch that if you die, then our dear Hawkeye will come out of hiding,” he states, through his ugly smile.

“So there was no kidnapping, no exploding car?” Steve asks, the anger simmering through his chest as his blood begins to boil. Barney had heard from Laura that the kids had been found in that car which had been rigged to blow. Had this been a lie too?

"No, no exploding car. That was a cheap trick, wasn't it?” Duquesne looks at Tiboldt, unimpressed, but Steve sees the amusement in their eyes.

“Every magician always has an ace up his sleeve, and ours is going to be you, Captain America. You'll bring our dear Hawkeye out of hiding when they arrange your burial, won't you?” they finally say, as he watches them leave. He lifts his hand to reach for the shield and throw it at them, but Ronin has quickly responded to that motion with a knife in his fingers.

“Good luck, Captain America,” Tiboldt voice says, as he turns his back, in a blatant disregard for what will happen there.

What amuses Steve in the fraction of second it takes him to focus on Ronin again, is that if they keep walking away before the deed is done, then they'll never find any proof that the tasks actually get carried out. Except, he muses, that time where Duquesne himself cut off Petit’s head. That was sort of important, he realizes.

“So, you want to kill an Avenger, huh?” Steve asks, and Ronin twists the knife again. Steve doesn't trust the weapon in the least. He's seen knives in fights before, up close, and he hates them. Knives like that are the weapon of traitors - he thinks back to Thor who had been stabbed by Loki during the Battle of New York, he think back to the Winter Soldier who had tried to cut his face off, he thinks back to the knife Ronin himself had used to break his shoulder.

Knives were vile, but they were better than guns.

Ronin doesn't answer, so Steve hits the shield with his gloved hand, the bang echoing through the tent. “Alright, then give it your best shot,” he states as he moves to the side, planting his feet firmly on the ground, not allowing Ronin to decide where the fight is going to take place.

The first thing that the masked ninja does throws Steve off course completely, because Ronin throws his knife. Right past Steve, right past him, not touching him by an inch. Following it with his eyes, into the darkness behind him, Steve frowns. When the sudden shriek of metal against metal starts echoing above him, he realizes this was never going to be a fair fight.

He mutters a ‘fuck!’ before he moves to the side, avoiding a rain of small shards of glass, falling down from above, as he realizes Ronin cut the rope to some sort of contraption keeping it up there. The shards rain down on him, and he lifts the shield up above his head, to keep the shards from making their way into his skin, and the few seconds it has taken him lead to Ronin having moved behind him.

There's a hard yank to the shield as the falling shards subside, and Steve almost loses his grip on the shield. He closes his hand more firmly against the straps, and makes a swift turn on his feet, extending his foot out to kick out Ronin’s legs under him, but Ronin is quick to jump up and avoid the defensive tactic, using his momentum upwards to give a hit with his knee to the shield which flies up, revealing Steve’s face in the process.

A little blade sings right past Steve’s face and he feel the burn of the cut on his cheekbone almost immediately, before he moves away as Ronin falls down again, graceful as a cat.

This time, Steve decides enough and goes head on, using his shield to build up strength and hit Ronin’s ribs with it, but the loud clang indicates that Ronin has managed to take out the sword of its sheath.

Steve tries again, with the other arm, going for Ronin from the other side, and the parade that Ronin does impresses Steve, but there's a difference to this fight than what he felt in headquarters. It's more personal, no more playing. As he pulls his shield away, he smears the blood on his face away with his glove, as Ronin takes the time to catch his breath. He moves as swiftly, but somehow there's a difference to it.

Steve can't place it, he feels like it's a more guttural feeling that pushes him to that conclusion, but he doesn't give his opponent the time to retrieve as, this time, he throws the shield with all his might at him. Ronin ducks forward, making it flat to the floor as the shield makes it way into the sawdust behind him. As he runs up to Ronin, promptly kicking his him the temple with his knee, Steve moves and yanks the sword out of his hand.

He gives Ronin the time to stand up again, and the sawdust filled black costume suddenly betrays that Ronin is bleeding somewhere on his body, but Steve can't figure out why.

As he puts out the sword, Steve speaks. “If you stand down now, we can figure-”

But Ronin doesn't let him finish as he catches the sword by the blade, and twists it to the side violently, twisting Steve’s wrist at the same time. The sudden pain moves through Steve’s hand and his arm, and as he tries to keep his grip on the blade, Ronin pulls it towards him, forcing Steve forward too.

Ronin uses his free hand to pull something out of a hidden pocket on his thigh, and Steve catches Ronin’s wrist with his other hand, and in this interlocked state, both of them bleeding and unwilling to let go of the sword, Steve thinks he almost imagines eyes behind the white veil that are the eyes on the mask.

The half second’s inattention that thought causes him costs him dearly, because instead of pulling, Ronin suddenly pushes and with Steve’s own strength pulling towards himself, the handle of the sword hits his guts with an exploding pain, and at that, he has to let go of it, going down to one knee. Ronin grabs the sword by the pommel almost immediately, and this time, there's no mercy. He swings it at Steve and the sudden burst of pain numbs Steve’s mind as the blade cuts through the skin on his exposed neck, all the way down to his collar, cutting through the fabric until it hits the metallic filling that his uniform claims to be bulletproof.

He cries out in pain, as Ronin lets go of the sword too, suddenly taking steps towards Steve, grabbing him by the throat and forcing him back. Steve’s vision swims as he feels the grip pushing on his throat, choking him. And, as he catches hold on the hand holding him, with both of his hands, Steve can't stop Ronin from inserting another knife into him, right between the metallic pads that protect his chest.

* * *

Barney lands with a loud thud on the dirt. The shot hit him in the lower abdomen, and he's pretty sure the bullet is still inside. He lost his balance and fell to the floor immediately, as the Clown himself laughs, playing with the gun Barney lost earlier.

“Shame,” the Clown says, as he throws the gun up, catches it with his hand behind his back, and starts again. “Thought you'd be a better fighter, what with all you precious ‘I wanna go and be in the army’ moaning,” he comments, saying it in a mocking tone, imitating that of a child.

Barney simply grunts in reply, and allows himself to roll onto his back. His vision is flimsy, and he can't seem to focus on the top of the tent above his head. There's a noise, however, and he turns his head to see Ronin’s figure appear. The Clown moves to the side as the Masked Man speaks. “Time to go,” are but the three words he speaks, but Barney lets out a huff of relief as they leave.

* * *

Sam suddenly feels the ground make contact with his shoulder when the Strongman leaves him be, as a man in Clown makeup makes it out to them, followed by the dark shadow. It's the second time he sees Ronin, but the sight always makes an impression on him. There's sawdust and specks of blood on Ronin’s costume, and Sam's first thought is to which of them was injured.

He moans in pain as he rolls to his stomach, pushing himself up with his arms. He can feel the burning sensation in his ribs, and he knows at least one of them is either bent or broken. He can feel his head swimming too, and the blow to the head that he suffered suddenly feels more like an oncoming concussion than anything else.

* * *

There's a soft laugh and Natasha looks up. The snakes have slithered around her, refusing to bite her, but slowly and surely creeping their way onto her. The anaconda is going for her chest, and she's been letting it go. The Cobra has made its way between her legs, somehow bent on making a braid out of its body, using her legs as leverage. And, the mamba has slithered around her hands.

She'd decided to sit down and see how the snakes would react. Shooting either of them would cause the other to attack, and if there was one thing she had learned, it is that one snake she can handle. Snakes reminded her of Loki, and she had handled him perfectly. But as soon as there were more than one… It was best to let go and see what time brought.

The chuckle returns, and her head snaps up, at the same time as that of the snakes. There's a hiss from one of them, and the scaly sensation against her skin makes it crawl. She's pretty sure that she's going to throw up soon, it's a disgusting touch. She feels violated, as the snakes move away from her, letting her go. She looks up, trying to focus her eyes on the lady in the darkness. She recognizes a face that she has seen before. It's a vague memory, but she knows the face.

Then, Ronin makes it to the lady, followed by two others. And together, they leave her there, untouched but wounded at the same time.

* * *

“Anyone copying? Falcon, over.”

“I copy, Trickshot, over.”

“I copy, Widow, over.”

“I copy, Cap, over.”

Once the headcount is finished, there's a feeling of peace that seemingly falls on Steve’s shoulders. They're all fine. Apparently.

He's not moving, he fell flat on his back, and hasn't had the will to move from where Ronin left him. He hasn't touched the knife embedded in his chest, and he's just kept the right amount of concentration and goodwill focused on his breathing. He can feel his body reacting to the pain. He can feel the blood which runs down the cut on his throat. But he hasn't moved. He's afraid to do so, because of what the knife would do.

“Could use some help,” he finally manages into the com, and the first one to make it to him is Natasha, who looks like she's seen a ghost.

“Guys?”

Natasha's voice is sharp, and almost immediately Sam makes it through to the middle of the arena, kicking up clouds of sawdust as he runs. He knees next to Steve and immediately enters that zone she's seen Clint go to. A military and medical precision that instantly knows what to do. “Do not touch the knife, it'll help steady the bleeding, we gotta find something to put around his neck to stop that one too.”

Sam lifts his head to see Barney heading their way, a hand on his abdomen, tainted red by his own blood. “We gotta get Cap outta here and back to some sort of medical facility,” Sam states, Natasha helping out putting pressure on the wound on his neck.

“Shit,” Barney mutters as soon as he sees Cap’s state, and kneels down next to Sam. “There anything I can do?” he asks,but Sam just shakes his head.

“We gotta stabilize him, and then we gotta make sure he doesn’t flatline.Natasha, that’s your job alright? Make sure we don’t lose him,” he says to what Natasha nods and focuses on Steve’s gaze.

There’s a glossiness to his eyes which she doesn’t like at all,but she slaps him anyway. “Hey, Steve, stay with me here alright,” she says as both Barney and Sam decide that it’s best to carry him out of there.

The panic spreads to Natasha who still feels the snakes against her skin, and she feels chills going down her spine.Those snakes were disgusting and she can’t help but feel like they’re still there.

* * *

Three days go by where they get word that the knife that Ronin had left in Steve’s chest could have hit a lung and caused it to collapse, making it harder for him to breathe, and for his heart to beat properly. They get word that he’ll make it, he’s tougher than he looks and he’s seen worse.

Three days go by with the press having somehow gotten their hands on pictures of Captain America in his hospital bed, claiming an unknown threat is on the verge of rising again. This time, it’s the American press. Natasha has been sitting in that hospital room for one hour too many, but she can’t stop herself from staying at Steve’s side. Her eyes are fixed on the television in one of the corners of the room, where Jimmy Fallon is making his introductory dialogue. There’s a quiff about Isla Nubar, but there’s also a mention of what happened.

Natasha moves slightly forward and picks up the remote controller to put the sound up slightly, but she sees Steve turn his head. “Don’t worry, they’ll get over it again,” she says and he huffs, amused.

“They always do,” he comments. He’s got one of those oxygen tubes strapped to his face, blowing oxygen into his nose to help him breathe.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, and he tries to shrug, but the pain in his chest is still too great.

“How are the others?”

Of all things to ask. She’s the one who made it out relatively untouched. Barney had needed a three hour surgery to get the bullet out of his abdomen, because there had been a complication when they’d pulled it out, a sudden intense bleeding which had flooded the area. They’d needed to use a harmonic scalpel to get it done.

“Barney’s still in one of those beds, like you, because he’s got stitches holding his abdomen together and they need to keep a check on his vital signs,” she starts, before she nods to herself, “and Sam’s got a concussion. It’s like he’s got a constant migraine, bothered by light and such, so all in all… The team isn’t too good,” she finishes and Steve nods to her.

“Wanda?”

“She’s at the Academy, Nick stood up and vouched for her when we all went down. I think Maria made it there too.”

Suddenly a thought dawns on Steve and his eyes turn white with fear. “Clint? The kids?” he asks, agitated, the monitors beeping in alarm as his pulse rises. Natasha rushes to his side and puts her hand on his arm.

“He’s fine,” she grimaces. “He doesn’t understand how we got tricked, nor who the hell Barney spoke to on the phone,” she explains. “It doesn’t make any sense, because they never got a call from Barney, so the person he spoke with wasn’t Laura. There was never a car, there was never a kidnapping.”

She sighs.

“It was all a stupid trap.”

“Why?”

She raises her shoulders, only to let them fall down again. She has no idea why, she has no idea what their play is. She doesn't know a single reason as to why, other than they're getting closer.

“I've managed to figure out who their friends were,” she then adds,  as she rubs her forearms. Sometimes, she can still feel the slithering of the snakes against her skin and it makes her hairs rise. Snakes are tricksters, and she still remembers Loki clearly in her mind.

Steve frowns. “How?”

“I looked into records and movements of criminals, brushing through some of the National Security Agency files,” she starts, as she tries a shy smile at him. “We've got Bruce Olafsen, originally from Norway. He's been known as Bruto the Strongman in the Circus of Crime, and he's the one who went after Sam. We don't know much other than he's one of those ridiculously strong men who just seem to eat calories on sticks and who have decided that crime is their go to hobby for money.”

She pauses, looking at the door, looking the way Barney’s room lies. “Barney’s opponent was Eliot Franklin, he's the one we saw in Monaco already and such. He's a creepy circus artist who's done several bad things in his time with and without the Circus of Crime. Looks like he's gone back to Tiboldt for this single job, because he's been working as an assassin for hire the past couple of years.” A sigh.

“The one I met,” she states, as she rubs her arm again, digging her nails into the skin at the thought, “is Zelda DuBois. I've heard about her before, through Clint. She's the same age as him, and they started out together. She calls herself Princess Python when she's on stage.” She shakes her head again. Spiders, she didn't mind. Slimy creatures, she could handle. The vilest men on this earth were no problem to her, but snakes.. “She's got a thing for snakes.”

She finishes and Steve lets out a loud huff too. “Looks like we've got our own version of Freaks running around,” he says, and Natasha smiles, before he frowns to correct himself. “I don't mean freaks as in the slur-”

“You mean Freaks as in the Tod Browning movie from 1932,” she interrupts, and he nods.

His gaze moves away from her, and he goes back to a memory, a memory from before the war, from before he was recruited, from before Bucky was taken from him. “It was one of those movies we went to see for fun one time,” he states, flatly, “it scarred me.”

Natasha simply nods. She's seen parts of it too, but she's never seen it entirely. Every time she's zapped to another channel, because she's seen enough of these people through Clint. Some of them are great. Some, less great. Like the circus of Crime. (Solveig, the bearded lady who sheltered Barney and Clint in her caravan when they joined the circus at 10 and 14 years old was one of the few Natasha had met. Sadly, she'd passed away two years before.)

“Don't worry, we'll get the bastards,” she says as Steve nods. “I'll come check up on you later.”

She exits the hospital room, closing quietly behind her. She needs to figure out what the next plan of action is. With all the New Avengers, almost, down for the fight, she needs some help. Nick and Maria have stepped up to help the trainees and recruits, as well as Wanda, but she still misses the guidance of a senior agent. Sadly, there aren't many people she can call in, as Melinda is busy with her own troubles, still working against Hydra and another emerging threat.

* * *

“You're telling me, that a bunch of samurais in a shitty costume, and other clowns, have got you all thrown into hospital beds?”

There's a certain laughter to Nick Fury’s voice, but it also stings. He's not sure why. Steve chuckles at the phrase, as he rubs his chin, thoughtfully.

“Yeah, well. I just think that I could use an outside opinion on this entire thing,” he states, and Fury smiles. That wide, all knowing smile that Steve has learned usually means that Fury knows. He always knows. Every single time there is something up, somehow, Fury knows. He moves slightly, and the camera loses focus on his face. His thumb nears it, and Steve hears the tapping that indicates he's asked the device to focus on him again.

“Let me tell you one thing,” Fury starts, and Steve lets himself fall back onto his chair. He's got stitches at the neck, where the deep cut almost went to the bone. But, other than that and the deep cut he'd suffered in the chest, he was fine. The doctors had said yet again that he'd been incredibly lucky not to sustain anything more troublesome than what they essentially called a ‘hole with no consequences’. Either Ronin had really bad luck, or else he was an expert at handling the knives he had in his possession and had some reason to want Steve alive.

“This Maynard Tiboldt guy, he's the one you should be careful about. He's the one that you should look out for, and that you should give the credit to everything.” Fury pauses, as he sits back. Steve recognizes one of the rooms in the headquarters of the New Avengers Training Facility. “When we took Barton in, we monitored Tiboldt’s activity for a while. As we did Chisholm and Duquesne - it's part of the reason why Barton himself is paying some of Chisholm’s medical bills.”

It wasn't exactly new information to Steve that Clint paid some of Buck Chisholm’s care, but it still surprised him every time. There was a mutual respect between the two that he would never understand, mostly because it bordered so much on a mutual hate. Clint had never spoken of Chisholm before, and so, it came as quite the surprise when they learned he had been taking care of him. (There were a lot of things Steve didn't know about his teammates, and it both reassured him and made him worry).

“We kept them off Barton’s tail for a while,” he continues, “then we let them go as we figured they would never manage to set up a trap or any action that might hit us.” Fury shrugs. “Turns out, it took twenty years for that trap to happen.”

There's a pause, where Steve thinks as long as he can. He knows that Clint has been part of so many missions you'd think it was a joke, and he knows that there had always been the fear that his past would come and bite him in the ass. However, Fury isn't done yet.

“I'd suggest you look back at what you've experienced with them all, and you learn things from there. Maybe, if we find a blindspot or a loophole in their plan, we can capitalize on that and neutralize the threat.” Steve nods, as Fury goes on. “They've made it onto Laura and the kids, and that is intel we managed to keep from even HYDRA. They probably went for what they knew from Clint, since he joined them when he was 10 years old, but still. They're onto his heart, and that means we have to do something before they take his heart from him.”

There's an awkward silence. Steve avoids looking at the screen, and the monotonous sound of his heart monitor is the only thing that breaks the thick layer that has fallen like ice over them both. “You have to talk to Clint, or even his brother about a plan of attack. There's too many players, the Circus of Crime is too big for us to handle right now, with our agents scattered across the globe. If Rumlow or any other outsider decides to strike now, we might lose the opportunity to strike. As long as the Circus of Crime is our only priority, we have the upper hand.”

“What about Ronin?” Steve then asks, as he finally gets himself to look at the screen. Fury’s eyebrows twitch, as he shrugs.

“If it were up to me, I'd try to get him isolated and talk him into working for the greater good. He's put most of you in the hospital and he even avoided getting Wanda into his head.” He smiles again. “I'd say talk to him, see if we can get his thirst for Avengers blood turned into the blood of worse people.”

There's a chortle from Steve, which makes him wince as he laughs. “You alway do see the best in people, don't you?”

Fury points to his bad eye with his index, before he cuts the communication. Steve is left facing his reflection in the tablet, and he feels empty the exact second it happens.

Sam's taking some time off, having gone back to stay with Wanda. He's been helping her focus her powers on feeling the body and not the mind, so that she can get a feeling off Ronin should they meet again. He's been helping her focus on the thoughts running around his body, the way his heart reacts to what happens around him. The way his muscles twitch and the way his fingers play with the knives. It's a delicate training, and Natasha has been helping her too.

But so far, Wanda can only sense the difference between Sam and Natasha because of things she knows - they're of opposite sex, they're from vastly different pasts. She'd need to get a feel on someone else, someone she has never read before. Steve locks the tablet with a quick motion and puts it away, before he puts some pressure on the bandages on his neck and throat. It still throbs, every now and then, and he feels ridiculously humiliated. Of all things. He's seen war, he's seen the Red Skull get disintegrated by the Tesseract, he's seen Gods and Tricksters, and it was a man with a knife who managed to take him down.

He laughs to himself. Clint and his bow and arrow, a prehistoric weapon, capable of great destruction if use wisely (if that one thruster had gone down on the helicarriers when Clint was under Loki’s spell, they all would have died). And now, Ronin, with an equally old weapon, leaving scars and cuts in his path and letting his wrath burn them all to their core. Steve wonders if Ronin being out for the life of an Avenger means that he'll turn to one of them, if he gets tired of Duquesne and Tiboldt and their shenanigans.

He's bound to.

* * *

“So, tell me,” Sam starts, and Barney looks up from the newspaper that he has been reading. “Everything that Natasha and Clint have ever told me about you seems to be that you never do anything for free,” he goes on, as he frowns at his own question. He settles against the counter of the kitchen.

He’d initially come down to make a sandwich, but when he’d seen Barney sitting there too, eating some muësli, at 4 in the morning, he had felt the need to ask. Barney had made it home from the hospital two days before. It wasn’t exactly personal, it was just that Barney didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would do anything for free. He watches Barney’s reaction to the question, but it doesn’t seem like it has surprised him.

“So?” is the reply he gets, and Sam lets out a shrug. He doesn’t really know why he’s asking this, but it feels like the right time. There are loyal men, who will do anything for their brothers and brothers in arms. There are the more tainted ones, who aren’t sure what they’re ready to do to get by. He isn’t sure where Barney fits in.

“I’m just asking. You doing this for Clint, is it because you expect to get a free card you can cash in on, at a later time? Or is there some sort of bond that we haven’t figured out yet?”

He pauses, and Barney rolls his eyes as he puts another spoonful of muësli in his mouth, apparently unphased by Sam’s words. “Because, I’d really like to know if you’re going to start looking at us like potential opportunities,” he finally finishes and Barney just lets out a loud laugh.

Like a bark. He’s barking, and in that, Sam realizes just how different he is from Clint. He’s known Clint for some months now, and in all that time, he’s learnt that Clint is loyal to his very core, even though he will not fail to do what he thinks is right, even if it goes against orders. He is a faithful friend, and one that can’t be replaced - he’s far too insightful.

There’s such a basic difference between the two Bartons that Sam sometimes has trouble seeing how they’re related, and then, they do something that reminds him of the other. Such as the eye rolling Barney just displayed, which is so typically Clint-like that Sam wonders which of the parents did that too.

Both of them have been in the army. Sam knows this, as he’s a military man himself. Having trained to be a pararescue took up most of his late teens and early twenties, and after he lost Riley and the world of military endeavors suddenly became bland… Well, it was easier to come back to the civilian world and help others like him.

Clint managed to reach the rank of Captain in his stint in the army before SHIELD managed to get him out of it and come work for him. That much Sam knows. Barney, as far as military records go, went all the way to becoming a Colonel before he enlisted in the FBI, having grown tired of the military works around the world.

Sam has seen Barney’s record. He’d done two tours, one in Afghanistan, in 2003 at the beginning of the war there, with the invasion of Iraq, and another one, in Cameroon, teaching Cameroonian troops ground combat techniques, before he’d made it back to American soil and enlisted for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

“Why is it so important to you?” Barney finally says, as the spoon clinks against the plastic bowl he’s found in one of the cupboards. He leans back into the back of his chair and watches Sam with the same clear eyes that Clint has.

There’s still a slight wheezing coming from his mouth, where his injury makes him hurt, but he hasn’t complained once about the pain. Not a single time. He’s just been taking it in, just like Steve would, or like Sam would do himself.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Sam says again. “When we found you in Alaska, working with HYDRA, you were doing it for personal gain. This entire thing, with your circus past and Clint being the main target, it doesn’t make any sense that you’ve suddenly turned into this family man that loves his brother.”

Sam had that relationship with Riley. They’d known each other for so long, that when Riley had been shot down from the sky and he’d been up there, nothing to be done, he’d felt like half of his heart had been ripped from him.

“I’ve said it before,” Barney says, shaking his head, as if this exchange is getting on his nerves, “if anyone’s gonna kill Clint, it’s gonna be me,” he finishes, picking up the spoon. His hand is shaking slightly, something that Sam has noticed too. It’s intermittent, not a constant shaking, just something that Barney has been displaying lightly. As soon as he puts the spoon down into the bowl, picking up some milk and some of the flakes, to get it to his mouth, Sam pushes himself from the counter and comes to sit down, right in Barney’s personal space.

“I don’t believe that’s enough reason for you to sweep in here, with your intel and your opinion on everything,” Sam says, teeth clenched, as Barney puts down the spoon again.

His hand is tapping the table now, and Sam can see that he’s tense - his knuckles are white.

“Did you even make a call to Laura, the other day, to make sure the kids were alright? Or did you just fake that too?”

In the time it takes Sam to finish his sentence, Barney’s gotten up, and his fist has flown in Sam’s direction. Thankfully, Sam intercepts it with an equally fast reflex, but the jab to his liver hits him hard and he takes a step back. The hit punched all the air in his lungs out, and he needs to breathe. Barney is shaking his fist, as if it hurt more than intended to hit him.

“Don’t you dare make the assumption I’m behind this,” Barney seethes, rage in his eyes. “Clint is my blood, as is Laura and the kids,” he continues, and Sam takes in a deep breath as his body finally stops contracting. The pain spreads through his guts, and he exhales through the nose.

“You wanna know why?” Barney goes on, and Sam nods.

“Yeah, actually, I do wanna know, because it still doesn’t add up,” he growls, and Barney throws another punch, which turns out to be a distraction to get Sam off balance, and the knee he throws to Sam’s already hurt gut makes him fly to the floor.

Barney stands over him, his hand steadier than he’s ever seen it. There isn’t even a sheen on sweat on his face, but the utter rage that Sam sees in his eyes reminds him that, of all of them, Barney is the one’s who’s been through the most hateful interrogations. He’s done things he isn’t proud of, that much Sam knows, he’s tried to kill Clint several times, gotten shot, hurt, tortured and more, but he has never gone after the kids and Laura. No matter who he was aligning with - whether it be HYDRA, Osborn or any of the others.

“You fucking moron,” Barney mutters, as he goes back to the chair, apparently giving up on the physical conflict. “You really think that I’m working with those clowns? You must be completely out of your mind.”

He pauses, as Sam makes it back to his feet, scrambling to the chair he’d previously sat on. He’s still heaving for air, and is more than happy to let Barney speak for now.

“The reason I’m helping you out now, is because you have no idea. You have absolutely no idea what they are capable of doing, even though they’ve given you chance, after chance, after chance. Tiboldt and his Circus of Crime are the real dangers of this world, because they’re not going for world domination like HYDRA, nor are they going to control anything and get shares and whatnot. They’re in it because they want the fun, they want the chaos and they want to watch the world burn through their tainted glasses. Duquesne isn’t half as bad as Tiboldt, he’s the crazy one.” He pauses, as he realizes he’s started speaking loud enough to wake those sleeping nearby (if there are any), and that he’s started spitting.

“You think of circus folk as petty crime and thieves in the night, stealing wallets and credit cards, but they are so much more than that, especially the Circus of Crime.” He takes a deep breath, before he speaks again. “The fact that they’ve gotten Ronin on their side is going to bite them in their asses too, because when the masterless samurai realizes that they’re bound to hit a wall and break against it, he’s going to take this into his own hands. Tiboldt said to Rogers that Ronin wants a dead Avenger on his curriculum, do you realize that it puts not only Clint on the kill list, but all of you? It puts Stark, Banner and even Thor on the list. You’ve seen him cut through Rogers like butter, you got yourself a concussion because of his associates and I’ve got a brand new gunshot wound scar to boast about.”

Sam’s breathing has settled slightly, and he’s noticed that Barney’s started speaking quieter and quieter. “It’s Natasha, it’s Wanda, it’s Rhodey, it’s you,” he continues, as he shakes his hand.

“Petit was their gateway to money because he laundered for Hydra and Spectre and the Syndicate, they’ve killed him, which means that there are a lot of angry people out there, looking for revenge. Do you know what they’ve done?” Barney then asks, and Sam shakes his head.

Barney pulls out a phone that Sam has never seen before, an old fashioned flip phone, and when Barney hands it to him, Sam realizes it’s a burner. The message that’s opened on the screen is dated from a couple of hours ago, and it doesn’t bode well. Not in the least.

“ _Avengers kill Petit in covert op. War declared. Bring Hawkeye to the Circus of Crime, and take down any other so called superheroes in your opposition._ ”

Sam hands the phone back to Barney, who hides it again. He’s trembling, but Sam isn’t sure if it’s because he’s cold or angry or worried - or a mix of all three.

“They blamed Petit’s death on us, which means there’s going to be a retaliation. We’ve gotta do something to stop them, or they’re going to destroy us all.” Barney shakes his head again, distressed.

“If they get the other organisations in on this, we’re screwed,” he finally says, as he takes the bowl of now spongy flakes and opens the trash can, throwing it out. He goes to the dishwasher, opens it, and throws in the spoon and bowl.

“When were you going to tell us?” Sam hisses, as the sharp pain still burns through his guts.

“In the morning,” Barney answers, casually, as he turns his back and leaves the room. Sam watches him go, and his mind wanders.

Yes, maybe Barney wasn’t the cleanest superhero in the flock, but he was the one with most to lose. If he loses Clint, Sam muses, Barney will have lost everything he knew from his childhood. All the happy memories, all the pain they went through, together, with the circus and their hardships… It will all have been for nothing. No older sibling or parent should watch their younger sibling or children die.

And, suddenly, Sam feels a deep sadness for Barney growing in his chest. It had never occurred to him that the other Barton might be this way because of his loneliness. All his life, he’s been fighting for Clint. Seems like it’s his purpose on this earth, and Sam feels a pang of distress for Barney brewing.

* * *

“Can I come in?”

Wanda had heard the door open, but she didn’t look up from her book. She’s been sitting in her room for a couple of hours, reading a book she’d found at the local library for sale, for a dollar.

He pushes the door a little bit more, and makes his way into her room, closing it behind him. She hasn’t really moved yet, but he knows it’s because she’s still getting over what happened. To him. To Steve. To Nat. To Sam. To Barney.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, and she finally looks up. She looks exhausted, dark lines under her eyes, silent witnesses of the sleepless nights she has spent lately.

Clint moves forward, into the area of her bedside lamp, and squats next to her, to be at her level. He’s got a worried smile on his face, a gentle one. His body still hurts, but she senses that he’s doing better. His body doesn’t ache anymore, neither does his aura. She likes it better this way. Her mind brushes his, and she feels the constant hum of contentedness that always comes from him.

She’d felt it the first time he’d talked to her as an equal, on the bridge, in Sokovia. A steady hum, that tasted of wheat and flour, of pie crusts and quiet mornings in the sun. She could feel his mind worrying about her, and as he sits down next to her, letting himself fall ass first onto the floor, she closes the book.

“I am tired,” she states, and he nods. He doesn’t say anything, because it’s not his place. Also, because he knows that she wants to talk about something else. It’s the reason he’s made it here, she knows. There was talk of something else, but she had gone to rest before she’d heard the end of the briefing. Something about moving Laura and the kids to a safehouse before the Circus of Crime made it to their home.

He chuckles. “I heard,” is the only word he says. He’s fidgeting with a loose strand of fabric coming from his pullover, and she wants him to stop, but the movement makes her focus. She can feel her mind calming, and she can sense that he’ll let her do whatever she wants.

“Nat said you wanted to talk,” he then starts, looking up from the strand and at her. There’s no judgement in his eyes, just a wish to help and understand. She nods at this, and bites her lower lip. She isn’t sure how to do this, as it feels like she’s being hard on the others, and a pain at that. Asking Clint to fly out had been Steve’s idea, backed up by Sam and Barney who wanted to talk to him about what the hell had happened with that fake kidnapping, but first, they had agreed, he needed to talk to Wanda.

Wanda, who felt guilty for everything happening and for not being able to help. She felt all their worry, all their pain and all their troubles, and it made her oh so tired… Natasha had told Clint that Wanda woke up screaming at night, nightmares of blue lights and cold hands on her arms, screaming for Pietro, for Clint, for someone to save her from the scepter and from the mind stone.

That’s why she hadn’t been sleeping. And frankly, Clint doesn’t blame her.

“It is not easy,” she starts, and Clint looks down at his hands again. He’s got some scabs on there, from working in the barn and from shooting the bow. But he is serene. No worries, nothing. Just the steady hum of his soul, rubbing off against her.

“I see blue lights, and I see destruction,” she continues, her hands falling silent on the bedcovers she’s pulled over her legs to protect them from the cold. “I do not understand why, but it is keeping me from sleeping,” she finishes, and Clint looks up, his face strained and his lips tight. She still doesn’t feel his worry, but she can see it on his face.

“It’s the scepter?” he asks, and she nods. She turns her hands around, so her palms face upwards and start glowing red.

“Death is dancing around you in the fires of my mind,” she says, closing her eyes, as if it helps her find the words she needs to express herself. “I see threats everywhere, with no faces.”

Clint steadies his hands against his hips, as he readjusts his position on the floor.

“And the burn of the electricity against my mind seems to come back all the time,” Wanda continues, “like it is telling me there is a threat. A faceless threat, in black and gold, coming for you.”

He nods at this. “Ronin,” he says, and she nods, opening her eyes again to look at him.

“I see him in my nightmares, like he is creeping closer.” Her hands are shaking now, Clint realizes, and he puts out one of his to take hers. She’s freezing. “He is coming, a messenger of death, and he has marked us all.”

She sounds so ominous that Clint almost wants to interrupt her, but he knows there’s something else she wants to talk about. Other than the fact that they still don’t know who is under the mask and why he is doing what he is.

“I need to know,” she says, as she pulls her hand free of his, and he takes his hands back to his thigh. They’re cold now, too. “Why is he going for you?” she asks, and Clint closes his eyes, as he lets out a little sigh. He knew it would come to this, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hide it forever.

He’d spoken with Natasha, and Laura about it. That Wanda would need to see who he was, eventually. If not by looking inside his head, but by hearing about it. She’d seen plenty of his past in Chisholm’s mind, and she’d snooped around in Barney’s head without him knowing it, but it was all Clint. She needed him to tell her. Why he was the way he was, and how it happened.

“Because bad things happened when I was a kid,” he starts, and he leans his head slightly to the back, so he can look up at the ceiling, avoiding her eyes, because he knows he won’t be able to talk if she’s looking at him directly. It’s easier to pretend she isn’t there. “My dad was a drunk bastard, and he killed my mom when he crashed the car into a tree,” he starts, as he takes in a deep breath.

Wanda’s mind goes to his, and she feels the memories of his parents. As he pauses, lets her take it in, she focuses on the memory of a father, the colors blue and purple standing out, marked by red, and the fear of loud voices and noises. She focuses on a bright yellow and sandy figure, a faceless woman with a smile, and what she realizes is a memory. Clint can’t remember his parents’ faces because he was too young, and it’s a hazy mess. She feels sad for him, suddenly, that he can’t see the beauty of what she’s seeing now.

“From there, it was just me and Barney. I was 10 years old at the time, he took care of me. Found us a place to go when the orphanage didn’t want us anymore,” Clint continues, his eyes still closed. He’s stopped fidgeting, Wanda notices, and she looks at him as he speaks. There are small marks on his face, scars she’s never really seen before, but also wrinkles. She realizes then, that Clint isn’t like the others. He’s got this different feeling, because of what has happened to him during his life, and she feels the remorse, the sadness, the melancholy that his memories cause him burning into her own mind.

She isn’t peeking in on his memories, but she might as well.

“We joined the circus,” he says, and bright colors flourish in his mind, causing her to open her eyes, making sure she’s still in the room. She can taste the candy floss, the popcorn that’s too sweet, she can smell the sawdust, the sweat and the perfume the performers wore, she can see the colors and the faces of the others.

“From there, things went downhill. I dropped out of school, never got any degree, learned to use a knife and a bow and arrow.”

She feels the green and dirty thickness of Duquesne on Clint, an abusive and violent man, whose slimy plans and selfish needs rubbed off on Clint. She can feel the colors push through, as he thinks back to Duquesne. There was no love there, she realizes, and as the colors merge to Chisholm, she realizes why Clint still has a close relationship with the master archer to this day. It’s not spite, it’s not hate, it’s deeper than that, and when Clint opens his eyes and looks at her, she’s understood that Chisholm was the closest Clint ever got to a father.

Harold, his real father, never treated him well enough, and Duquesne only saw opportunities. But Chisholm gave him a goal to strive to, a purpose, he gave him good things too, nice memories that feel warm as Clint thinks back to them, like a bubble waiting to burst.

“Barney left a couple of years later, because he didn’t want to stay in the circus,” Clint chuckles and he looks to the door, as if Barney is going to show up there. “He left the circus world before me, because he wanted to do good. I ran to join him at the bus stop next morning, but it had already left and for the first time in our lives, we were left alone, far away from each other with no way of helping each other out.”

Wanda has never been stabbed in the heart. She has never suffered a debilitating injury like that, but the pain that she felt when Pietro died burnt through her like a million shots, as dangerous as if she had been shot herself. The deep, deep sadness that burns through Clint now burns through her mind. There’s regret, there’s anger, there’s frustration and an intimate sadness that she knows Clint only allows her to see because he knows she needs this.

As this burns through her mind, oozing out of Clint’s bleeding memories, she realizes why Barney is protecting Clint the way he does. She realizes that the two share a bond as strong as she had with Pietro, in spite of them not being twins, and she suddenly misses Pietro so much. She can feel her throat tighten, and she can feel her eyes watering. Would she do the same, if Pietro had gone down the bad road and they’d gotten bad blood? She would have, she knows.

She sees her own memories, lining up with Clint’s. Orphans, killed by violence and anger, frustration in their upbringings, and she sees the sudden scattering of their love when Barney decided to leave Clint behind. But Clint doesn’t feel anger at this, no, not anymore. He resumes speaking soon after.

“That left me with Chisholm, and Duquesne. Jacques, he turned bad after a while,” he chuckles, before he goes on, “tried to kill me when I caught him stealing from Carson.” There’s another name there, that she’s heard before, it’s accompanied by a fondness, like an old relative you don’t see often but associate with nice things.

“I tried to escape by climbing on a tightrope, but he cut it under my feet,” Clint continues, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I fell the 65 feet down, onto the sand and by some fucking miracle, I survived the fall,” he says, opening his eyes and looking at her. His mind wanders to a hospital, green and white and sterile, with too many machines beeping around him, and Wanda pulls herself back out of his mind. It’s blank on one side, and she realizes it’s because he can’t hear from that side. Frowning at him, as if understanding dawns upon her, he simply smiles and points to his left ear.

“I was a bit bruised and battered, but I made it through.” He’s deaf in one ear. She doesn’t believe it when she realizes it, it must be a trick, she thinks, but it isn’t.

“Then, Chisholm taught me to steal and kill,” he says, and suddenly, as her mind goes back to dance with his, she sees darkness creep in from the sides, and the bright colors which had tainted his memories turn stale and bad in her mouth. “I stole for the sake of our circus, because Carson was indebted to Tiboldt, even though I didn’t know it at the time,” he continues, as he starts fidgeting with the thread again.

There’s flashes of different colors, and then there’s a black veil taking over his mind. “The first time I killed another person was the same day I met Laura,” he says, and Wanda can see the colors melting together in her mind. A deep red, like a bleeding wound in his soul, symbolizing death, but the thought of Laura suddenly makes it bearable. He smiles at this, now, as if there’s some sort of joke she isn’t in on and that he doesn’t want to explain.

“She was with the Circus of Crime,” he moves on, “Buck moved me with him to their act, and I met Laura there,” he says, a fond smile appearing on his lips. An explosion of colors in his head is suddenly muted when he speaks up again.

“She was the light that kept me out of the darkness, as Buck got me killing more, stealing more, injuring more.” He shakes his head, as he rubs the back of his neck. He’s distressed, and Wanda wants to calm him, but this is something he has to do on his own, she can feel that coming from his soul.

“When SHIELD got to me, I was in double digits,” he shrugs, and there’s a sudden emptiness in his head. As if he’s gone bland, stale, blank. Completely undone, unmade. Unmasked. Wanda doesn’t say anything. She lets him speak.

“I betrayed Tibolt so I could get out with Laura.” He pauses. “I left Buck behind, I left them all behind, I forgot about them all, hoping that they would never catch up with me.”

She closes her eyes, gripping her book tighter. She doesn’t want to hear this. This is the reason why. She doesn’t get it. “Tiboldt promised that he’d make me pay for what I did, by any means necessary,” Clint lets out, as quiet as a mouse, barely a whisper, and Wanda feels the worry for Nathaniel, Cooper, Lila, Laura and the other Avengers hit her like a wave, knocking her away, filling her eyes with tears she can’t keep out anymore.

Silence falls on both of them, as Clint quietly lets her get back to her senses. He stays quiet, composes himself. Focuses on his breathing. She mimics his breathing, taking in deep breaths.

She wanted this, she wanted to talk with Clint about his past and why this was so important. She’s seen him, now, she’s seen the reasons, she’s felt it with him. She feels as if everything has changed, and yet, none of it has. Looking at him, she notices he’s crying too. A quiet crying, with a tear making its way down his chin, and she suddenly wants him to be alright.

Wanda has seen Pietro cry twice in her life. And those two times, it felt like the only thing she could do was to hug him and tell him that it was going to get better. The first time was when they were kids, right after their parents had died in the bombings. The second time was right after Strucker had taken them in and experimented on them both. The pain going through Pietro’s body had caused him to cry, and she had tried to soothe him, but only made it worse.

Seeing Clint crying now makes her heart ache, and she makes it down the bed, hands onto the floor, then her knees, crawling down, to embrace Clint and make sure he’s doing alright. They don’t say anything for a while, simply sit there, Clint steadying his breathing against the crook of her neck, and her trying to soothe him, inhaling the sweet perfume of his hair, of his sweat, the way he holds himself and the way he just is.

When he finally loosens up, she lets him go, and sits on the floor in front of him. His eyes aren’t completely dry yet. But she knows that they will dry, and they will figure this out.

“They will not win,” she states, nodding her head to make it clearer that they aren’t going to let them. Clint has a shy smile, before it disappears again. He’s always seemed so calm, so steady, a rock at her side, and seeing him wobble like that makes her increasingly worried about what is going to happen next.

The memory of the faceless masked samurai in her dreams make it back to her, and she feels her heart race in her chest. It’s time they did something about it, but what?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? Did you like it? I've been meaning to write Clint and Wanda interacting for a very long time, and now that it's done, what did you feel? Leave a comment. Tell me what your favorite part was, and what you think is going to happen next. I have at least 4 more chapters planned, probably 5 with the epilogue, so we're still going to be following this team closely for the next couple of weeks.
> 
> Tell me everything, all the emotions, all the yelling you want to let out and all that - just do it. Until next time!


	7. The Turn - Phase III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's soon going to be time to reveal everything. Will this trick be worth it, in the end? Or will it all have been for nothing? The players are all getting set on the board, and there's only a few people who know exactly how things are going to go down. But the trouble had to come from somewhere, right? The threat, Tiboldt and Duquesne, why are they teaming up with Ronin in the first place? And what does that mean for Clint? For the New Avengers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! I hope you guys are ready, because you're hurling towards home run on this fic, as there are going to be three more chapters, and probably an epilogue. (Who am I kidding, of course there's going to be an epilogue).
> 
> Anyway. Just slight warnings for this chapter, as it has mentions of hospitals/clinics and cancer. There's a very brief mention of childhood physical abuse (non sexual), and I think that's about it.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it, and that you'll be left wanting for more!
> 
> Happy readings!

“So, what do we have?”

Clint’s sitting on the foldable metal chair in the training facility and looking at the others. Wanda and Natasha have been at it since the morning, since Wanda woke up screaming for her brother right before the crack of dawn. Sam and James have been up and running with the recruits, because it keeps them focused and it shows a good example.

Him, Barney and Steve had moved from the dining hall to the training hall a couple of minutes ago, as they were all still resting. Their injuries were getting better, Steve had almost recovered his full capacities, even though his shoulder blade still hurt, and the stitches on his chest still made him wince. Barney had been punching away at a punching bag, trying to get anger out of his body. They took the stitches out of his new injury this morning, Clint doing it himself.

Steve looks up from his tablet. “Not much, we ran all the members of the Circus of Crime through the system,” he says, as he swipes across the screen with his finger, sending the data to Clint’s own tablet in the same motion. Mugshots and criminal records show up, as well as an analysis of the links between them all.

Barney moves from the punching bag to look over Clint’s shoulder at the tablet. Steve watches them both, wondering just how well they’d work together out in the field. No, he’s not exactly considering Barney as a key player, but it would be nice to know that a skilled individual like the older Barton could be a potential asset. (If Hydra and Rumlow decide to blow everything up in their faces, a man with the resources like Barney might be a very good joker to have in his hand).

“We got nothing on any of these?” Barney asks, looking up at Steve who shakes his head.

“It’s a dead end, we can’t dig anything more up,” he says, motioning at Natasha’s who has just been thrown to the floor by a red blast of light. None of them flinch at the sparks anymore, and it feels safe. Steve regrets the thought immediately, because feeling safe is a pleasure he can’t afford right now. Not when they’ve got a threat on the rise, and that with both Clint and Barney here, it’s left Laura and the kids alone at the farm.

(Although, he trusts Clint to know when it’s safe to leave and when not to).

“I gotta talk to Zelda,” Clint finally says, as he hovers over the picture of the snake charmer. There’s files on her, on her show and her abilities, and Steve can’t help but wonder if they were ever involved. They’d had to be, hadn’t they? With the way Clint spoke of her when they debriefed, the way that Natasha had mentioned her. There was some lost love there, and Steve can’t help but wonder if there’s some jealousy from Zelda over the fact that Clint left with Laura instead of her.

“Uh, Cap,” James then says, loud enough to interrupt Natasha and Wanda’s sparring session, loud enough for all of them to look up at him, and as James presses a button on a remote control, to one of the holographic screens, loading an incoming message, Steve sees Clint go pale.

It’s a picture. When Steve realizes what it is, however, he moves immediately. Clint is faster than him, though, and reaches the screen faster than him, Natasha rallying by his side.

“What’s the timestamp on the file?” Clint asks, as Barney moves to his side too.

“Ten fifty seven,” Natasha replies, as she hijacks the tablet from Steve, controlling the screen at the same time. The details to the file show up there, and Steve watches them all look at the scribbles of information there. He’s gotten very good at computers, he can manage them and he’s caught up, but some of the details, he can’t understand just yet. Especially what Natasha is doing right now, she’s typing away too fast for him to follow, and when Clint interferes with his own tablet, tapping together, he just sort of loses his focus.

“Barney, call Laura,” Clint orders, and Steve looks back at the image. It’s a picture of the inside of Clint’s barn, a picture of his targets. Steve recognizes the closets holding all his different bows, he recognizes the table where he’d laid out the message from Ronin the first time, he recognizes it all. Except the spray painted message across the targets.

It’s a clock, with the hands pointing at twelve. “Twelve as in noon or midnight?” Steve asks, and James turns around, looking at him.

“They’re an hour behind us in Iowa,” Sam starts, interrupt James just as he’s about to speak, “so that means there’s time for this to mean noon.”

Rhodey gives a nod, before Natasha stops clicking away. “We’ve got the signature of the file, it’s a hidden TXT file in the download signatures, it’s sent from a phone in Clarksville,” she says, and Barney puts his hand on Clint’s shoulder.

“You gotta go out there,” he says, and Steve looks around. They all start talking at once at that.

“Clint, take the jet-”

“I’ll go with you-”

“You can’t go alone-”

“What if they mean midnight-”

“It is not safe to go now, it is a trap-”

“Alright, everybody just shut up,” Clint finally snaps. He’s tense, Steve has seen him like this before, but suddenly the pale color of his face shows even more, and he remembers that Clint has suffered an injury just like him, just like Barney. He shoves Barney’s hand off his shoulder, and hands the tablet he’s been holding to Natasha, who puts it under her own.

“I’m taking the jet back,” he starts, and Steve wants to interrupt, goes to interrupt, but Clint just points his finger at him, “don’t, Steve, alright? I’m taking the jet, I can make it there in just under three hours, which is just in time for noon-”

“I’m going with you,” Barney interrupts, and Clint frowns, looking at his brother.

“You’re not going back there with him,” Steve says, then, and this time it’s the two Bartons who look at him.

“The more we argue here, the more time we lose,” Sam then pointedly states, and with that, Clint doesn’t even bother to finish the argument. He turns around, headed straight for the quickest exit to the jet. Barney stays behind.

The older Barton looks at James, Sam, then Steve. “We gotta coordinate,” Barney says, as he looks over his shoulder to make sure Clint is out of hearing range. “I’ll go with him now, reach him in the jet before he takes off on his own, War Machine, you follow closely, you’re airborne too and can make good time like us,” he looks at Wanda and Natasha then. Wanda has sweat dripping on her temples, she looks exhausted and like she should be napping instead of standing up.

“Steve, Natasha, you look up any possibilities of this happening at midnight instead,” he states, before Wanda takes a step forward.

“Sweetheart, you’re in no state to fight right now,” Barney snaps, and at Wanda’s glowing red hands, he can’t help but frown.

She looks at him, and he feels her in his head. However, before she can do anything, Steve catches her hand, firmly, pulling her back to reality. “Not now, Wanda,” Steve says, and she takes a step back.

“I want to help.”

She’s absolutely sure about this, Steve thinks, but Barney’s right. She’s in no shape. None of them are. Sam shakes his head. “I’ll take care of her, we gotta practice still,” he says, and Wanda makes a face.

“I do not want to stay here! I want to do out, I want to help.”

“Look, Wanda, listen to me,” Natasha finally says, “we’ve got to make sure that the farm is safe and if we have to, extract them to a safe house somewhere else,” she looks at Steve, then Barney, as if daring them to interrupt her.

“You and Sam head to this location, make sure it’s safe and that there’s nobody there, wait for further instructions,” she finishes, handing coordinates to Sam on her tablet.

Barney looks at them all, and when he and Sam exchange a glance, he pulls out the burner phone he’s been keeping in his pocket for a while.

“I got this message a week after Petit was killed by Duquesne,” he states, as he opens the message and hands it at Natasha who reads it out loud.

“It says here that the Avengers killed Petit in a covert operation,” she starts, and Barney encourages her to go on with a nod. “War declared. Bring Hawkeye to the Circus of Crime, and take down any other so called superheroes in your opposition.”

“What does it mean?” Steve asks, as he takes the phone from Natasha who watches Barney with as much clarity as she can find.

“They’re saying we killed Petit, because they don’t want word out that he was working with the French authorities, so they’re framing us. It means that, if they decide to do this, we might have more enemies than just Ronin to run from, including all the Circus of Crime folk who beat us up a couple of days ago,” Barney answers, and Wanda sighs, as Sam closes his fists.

“So, what do we do?” Steve asks, and this time, Barney looks over his shoulder to where Clint had gone, and he bites his lower lip, frowning at the same time, unsure of how to proceed.

He takes a couple of seconds before he manages to formulate something. “We get Clint and the family out of danger, and then we make up a trap.” He pauses, as all the others fall into his words, listening to him. “We set up a trap that’ll lure them out, or at least lure Ronin out, he’s the asset that they’ve been counting on to do their dirty work for them when it comes to killing us, but so far he’s never gone for the kill, not on you Cap, even though he’s put you in the hospital twice, not on you Natasha, and he didn’t even touch you, Wanda. There’s something there that we have to look into, and that means we have to separate him from them and instead of doing it on his terms, we have to do it on ours.”

He grabs the phone that James is handing back to him, and he takes a deep breath as he pulls out a knife from his boot, which Steve seems to recognize.

“That’s the one that went into my chest,” he comments, and Barney nods.

“If we can get him to speak to us about why he wants one of you guys dead,” Barney says, “we’ll get a better idea of who he is and what his motivations are. From there we can find something to use as leverage or take him out for the count while we take out the chickens that Duquesne and Tiboldt are going to become, once they lose their henchman.”

“You have any idea how to do that?” James asks, as Wanda looks down at the knife, as it’s a poisoned thing that will hurt her if she touches it. Natasha notices this and picks it up, handing it back to Barney who hides it where it came from.

“I talked to Fury, he’s got an idea how to set up the trap, but it’ll include all of us if we want to get it right.” There’s a strain on Barney’s voice, and his eyes look just out over his shoulder again and Steve nods.

“Brief us on your way to the farm, and let us know when the Barton family is safe. Rhodey, you follow as air support, and we figure out what our next move is. Get Fury in on it, he knows Hawkeye and these people. Natasha, set up a tactical plan with Barney as soon as there’s time for it.”

“On it, Cap,” she says, and Barney takes this as the moment to leave.

James falls into the same pace behind him, catching up with him as he goes to reach the quinjet.

“There something else you want to tell me?” James asks, and Barney purses his lips.

“These clowns better not kill Laura or the kids,” he mutters under his breath, as a distant look takes over his eyes. “If they so much as touch them, Clint’ll make sure we never find their bodies.”

It’s not that it’s a surprise to James, it’s just that the look on Barney’s face indicate that if Clint loses any member of his family, it’ll mean a riot, and possibly a massacre. He’s been debriefed on the violence that Clint has been known to show, Natasha has spoken about it too, and he realizes now that the potential self destructive revenge that could become relevant, will probably mean a dichotomy within the New Avengers.

The thought scares him, and he follows Barney in silence, heading straight to the War Machine armor to follow them out.

* * *

It takes two hours and twenty one minutes to reach the farm. Barney keeps Natasha and the others posted, with James taking up surveillance from above. No other heat signatures but those of the children and Laura show up on their coms, but he reminds them of Hydra’s suits that camouflage heat.

It takes fourteen minutes to pack up the children and get them onto the jet. Barney has never seen Clint as focused as this. None of his movements, nor words are a waste of time: he’s got bags ready that he finds in the closets in the rooms, one for Laura, one for Lila and Cooper, and Barney suspects that the two elder Barton children have been an active member of the packing of their bags, because they don’t run around in a frenzy to find their things.

Lila makes a small scene looking for her plush wolf, but even Nathaniel seems to understand that there’s an urgency going on.

Laura doesn’t seem scared or nervous, but carrying Nathaniel against her chest at all times to protect him won’t allow her to show her worry. Not when her oldest kids need to see her strong, knowing what is going on and happening. Clint doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s to both Barney and James. The kids and Laura are in the jet, waiting for them.

“I’ll get them to a safe house, Natasha and Nick know where it is. Barney, I’m not telling you where it is,” he starts, and James goes to interrupt, but Clint shakes his head, not allowing him to, “I’ll set them up there, and as soon as I’m sure they’re safe, I’ll try and come back and help you guys out. James, Barney told you about the plan?”

James nods, and Clint looks over his shoulder at the front door and he sighs. Putting his hand on his shoulder, Barney squeezes it. “Don’t worry, kiddo, they’ll be fine, this place’ll be fine,” but he too can feel it, the worry that they’ll smash the place to pieces if they find it empty, the worry that their childhood home, where both of them grew up, where memories of their mother (and their father) still show up every now and then when they move the furniture or sort out trash in the barn.

“Don’t fuck it up,” Clint then mutters as he takes a deep breath and crosses over to the jet where his family’s waiting. Laura’s sitting in one of the chairs, and the kids have strapped themselves safely.

Laura is watching the middle section, which serves both as a table and as a gurney, and Clint realizes she’s trying to figure out if this was where he lay when he was injured in Sokovia.

“Hey,” he states, as Barney gets up through the ramp, following behind. The oldest kids are watching him wearily, and he can’t help himself but smile at them. “It’ll be fine, we’re going to be alright, just a little holiday upstate,” Clint continues, as he goes over to face Barney.

“Uncle Barney is going to help the Avengers figure things out while we’re gone,” he starts, and Lila makes a sound that interrupts him.

“Don’t go back?” she says, pleadingly, and Barney’s heart breaks. He can see her feet swinging nervously, barely touching the ground, and she wants to unstrap herself to run to her dad, but she’s staying put. “Please, don’t go back daddy,” she says again, her voice creaking, and Barney almost takes a step forward to go comfort her. Clint is faster, and he’s at her side almost immediately.

“I’m not going back there, alright?” He glances up above his shoulder at Barney, who nods. “I’ll stay there with you, and we’re going to take care of ourselves, and of Nate and mommy,” he states, clearly. Laura has gotten a bit of color back, and she’s been managing more tasks at home, it’s been some weeks already now, and even though she still is underweight, Barney can definitely see the difference.

There’s no doubt as to what suddenly made Clint decide. It’s time for him to stay with his family, especially now. He can’t leave them again, he can’t leave them like this, scared and alone. Barney thinks back to the times where him and Clint would hide from monsters under their bed. He can still remember telling a younger Clint to not worry, the monster that had suddenly taken on their father’s shape wasn’t going to find them.

Staying behind would be the cleverest thing that Clint could do right now.

Nathaniel is sitting in her lap, his fingers still in his mouth, his bright blue eyes going from one to the other. He hasn’t said much, probably too tense or worried for anything else. Barney has to give credit to Clint, he knows how to raise kids. If he were to raise them… Well, Barney doesn’t even want to think about it.

Cooper’s been sitting quietly, resigned to accept that suddenly, his father’s job has compromised them. He’s old enough to understand why, and as a tear makes its way down Lila’s face, he looks at Barney. “Who is it?” he asks, and Barney exchanges a glance with Laura, who with her nod, gives him the green light to tell him.

“People from our pasts,” he says, as he walks up to Cooper and kneels beside him to be at his level. Clint’s holding Lila’s hand, who is now listening to Barney too. James’ thrusters outside ignite, and Barney knows there isn’t much time left. Clint is going to set him off in upstate New York so he can make it back to the New Avengers facility quickly before going to the safehouse. James was going to follow them along the way, and would accompany Barney back to base.

“When your dad and I were kids, we were in the circus, you know that right? Well, in that circus, we met people like Buck, you know Buck, right? You’ve visited him once or twice before. Yeah, in Canada. Well, there were other people who made us do bad things, and to get away from those people, I left your dad behind to join the army, and then when he met your mom, they ran away from the circus to join SHIELD. But to do that, they had to disobey the bad guys, and now the bad guys are angry at him, and that’s why we’re going to take you away for a bit, to make sure they can’t hurt you.”

Barney finishes his sentence, as Laura gets up again, balancing Nathaniel against her hip, stroking Clint’s head on her way over to Cooper. Barney stands up, takes Nathaniel gently from her, and as she kneels, putting her head on Cooper’s knee, she smiles at him. “Dad’s going to take us away to a nice lake, and we’re going to spend time up there like when we go on holiday together,” she says, and Cooper nods. Lila’s hiccuping sobs have quieted too, and now it’s just Nathaniel who has decided to speak.

His unworded jumble is clearly directed at Barney, and the frown on the child’s face almost makes him laugh, but he can also see that the baby is worried. Especially when he reaches out for his face, putting his tiny hands against Barney’s lips. Barney bites the fingers gently, and when Nathaniel leans forward to headbutt him gently, before squeezing himself to the side, putting his arms out to reach for Clint, Barney obliges and hands him to his father.

“Hey there buddy,” Clint states as he takes Nathaniel from Barney, who straps himself down in one of the seats. He watches Lila who is clinging to her stuffed wolf, and then looks down at his hands. They’re still too young to understand what being an Avenger, or being a secret agent, or even being someone like Barney means, but one day, they’ll get it. Just not today. Today, it’s time to get them safely away from the danger, and keep them out.

As he quietly watches Clint handing Nathaniel back to Laura, who goes to strap herself down in one of the seats, and Clint heads to the pilot’s seat, he can’t help but see all the distress, all the looks exchanged between them both, all the subtle hand touching and affection. It doesn’t bother him, and he doesn’t feel jealous at their relationship, he just feels protective of it. If anything were to happen to either of them, he would travel to the ends of the earth and back to find revenge. But, as the engines roar on, he knows that Clint would also let go of all that self control he displays.

Natasha told him about how Clint had confessed to almost letting go of his control when Ultron had taken her, in Seoul. Clint had always been plagued with bouts of anger as a kid and as a teen, but he’d learned to control it later on in life, by finding ways to downplay it. Barney remembers the times where Clint would hit the walls until his fists were bloodied and until he could no longer feel his fingers. He knows there’s a thin line between self control and the lack thereof, and if anything were to touch but a hair on Laura’s and the children’s heads, Clint would turn his back on everything and everyone.

Looking at the duffel bag that’s hidden in one of the corners, Barney can’t help but wonder if this double bluff has been a bad idea since the beginning. It’s voluntarily playing with fire, and there’s only so much they can do until either party figures it out. They best hope it be Steve and his friends before the others, because then they’ll be in deep trouble.

Fury had said it would be a good exercise, and that it would keep Clint relevant, but now, watching Lila clutching her wolf and Cooper reciting a poem he’d learned in school, with Laura gently caressing Nathaniel’s temple to calm him down as they lift off - maybe it wasn’t that worth it anyway.

* * *

“Steve probably hasn’t told you yet,” James says, as they’ve finally managed to sit the War Machine armor down on the backseat of the car, covered by a towel they’ve gotten from Laura’s bag. Barney makes a ‘huh’ sound, not taking his eyes off the road, and James continues, “But the skills you displayed on the field,” he goes on, “it’s something that we could use.”

Barney snorts at the comment, even though he knows James means it as a good thing.

“No, I'm serious, you're a former military man and your expertise with the FBI, as well as your marksmanship, it's something we could use.” James pauses then, giving Barney some time to think about it, as he keeps overly focused on the road in front of him.

When he does reply, it's halfway through sarcasm and carelessness. “Thanks,  but I think I'll pass, leave the avenging to by little brother.” He takes his eyes off the road for a split second and looks at James who simply nods in return. “I'm not good at press, and I don't think all that responsibility should be given to me. Especially when I know I don't work well in a team,” he smirks, but James laughs at that.

“You're doing pretty good with us right now,” James comments, and Barney just shrugs, taking one hand off the wheel, scratching the back of his head.

“Well, I've got incentive. It's not like I'd have come forward if it had been another Ultron,” he deadpans, before going on, “This is up my alley. And, good thing is, I can go back to my shadows as soon as the job is done and the bastards are dead.” He pauses, putting his hand back on the wheel, as he indicates to the left to overtake a truck in front of them.

Night has fallen, and there isn't that much light except the headlights and taillights of the cars around them. James doesn't mind, he's used to driving in the dark, and he trusts Barney's driving skills. So far, Barney hasn't failed them one single time, and in spite of the little fight he had with Sam, he's never given them any incentive to not trust him. (In spite of all the prejudice they had against him in the beginning).

“Why’d you quit?”

“Army or FBI?”

“Both.”

There's a vague shrug, and Barney rubs his nose, before snorting loudly. “Army because I was sick of seeing young kids in a war they hadn't asked about and because I felt like it wasn't doing any good any more, FBI because… Well,  that's because Clint shot me in the shoulder once. He was still in the Circus of Crime at the time. It's a long story, but I left to make a difference. Better off alone, working for AIM, Hammer, HYDRA, all the highest bidders, giving the best information.”

He shrugs again, as James notices his grip on the wheel tightening slightly. “I ran into some weirdos in my time,” as memories make their way back. “Remnants of darker times, who still believed in the Red Skull and their ways. Didn't know it was HYDRA I was with until Romanoff released it all two years ago, but by then I had my doubts.”

James is listening closely, because Barney might have some interesting information to share. It's not like he wants to use him, because he respects him and he knows that all that information was earned, but still. Barney might be able to give him any and all information on potential enemies and potential foes.

“This guy I worked with for a while in Austria, creepy as hell.” Barney weaved between two cars,  slightly over the speed limit, but James didn't comment on the maneuver. “His name was Zemo, if that helps in any way,” he says, before he goes quiet.

James knows that it's in moments like these that he has to show all of his diplomatic Self control to not ask for more information, but he makes sure to memorize that name deep down in his mind, and look it up afterwards. Something rings a bell in his mind, and he looks back up at Barney. There's gaps in his file, gaps of several months, one of them over 15 months, where they don't know what he's been up to or done. He trusts him, he truly does, because he's helped them so much this far, but there is still some mystery.

As Clint's older brother, Barney is all James expected and more. A potential ally, a potential source of information and an expert in his line of duty. But then again, he's all that James hates. There's the air of profit, in any way that might help him along rather than others, and James knows that Barney doesn't believe in the motto of neither the Army or the FBI anymore. He's too damaged for that. And, he doesn't blame him.

“Clint never spoke about you,” James says,  and Barney smiles. Wide. It’s not even a sad smile, it’s more of an amused one, which shows James that, yet again, Barney still cares for his little brother. There isn’t any resentment, there isn’t any real anger or emotion, other than a clear and real affection for Clint.

“I know, he ain't speak of me in a long time. It's a deal we have with each other,” he comments, and James understands. To some extent. There's too much bad blood between the two for them to meet up every Thanksgiving and pretend everything is alright. “Best off this way,” Barney finally says, as he gives James a knowing look.

Yeah, James thinks. Best to keep Barney off the shadows, off the news. With a past like that, it’s best for the public opinion not to know that one of their beloved Avengers has a brother which has manslaughter and other lesser pardonable crimes on his conscience. (But then again… So does Clint. And Natasha. Tony has deaths on his conscience too. Those members of the Ten Rings he killed in Gulmira, even though they deserved it, they still ended up dead by Tony’s doing.)

“You still with the Air Force, right?”

“Yeah, I’m still with the military. Some of us still have to act under proper legislation, you know?” James laughs, and Barney nods, sharing the knowing smile. It’s a tough world to live in, specifically when there has to be decisions at every single level of diplomacy. If they’d let proper investigation forces handle Petit and the threat to Clint’s family, Barney thinks, it would have ended all too differently. But because they’re Avengers, and because they know the holes in the system, they got away with most of it.

“Colonel in the United States Air Force,” Barney starts, and James suddenly feels his chest burst with pride. When he spends time with Tony, it’s hard sometimes for them to understand what an accomplishment that is. “That’s not given to everybody. And I saw in your file that you’re a rocket scientist, too. Don’t you ever believe that people who see you as Iron Man’s sidekick forget that you’re more than that?”

It’s a legitimate question, and James has to think about it for a while, but he knows that it always comes back to Tony Stark. When they became friends, in the beginning, he knew that it would lead to something like this. He shakes his head after a couple of seconds and lets out a sigh, before he replies to Barney. “Nah, man. I’m not his sidekick, never was. Just because I fly almost the same suit as he does, doesn’t mean I didn’t modify it myself and decide how and what it was going to be used for. And, I’m an Avenger too, now, so I can’t say that I’m not satisfied with how all of this turned out.”

Silence falls on them after that, and he lets it be that way. Barney holds the wheel in one hand, the other hand rubbing his temple. The road is more or less deserted, and there isn’t much to talk about. They’ll be there in less than two hours anyway, so eventually, James decides to take the warrior’s approach and grab as much sleep as he can before it’s time to move out again.

* * *

“They make it out alright?”

“Yep, he still wouldn’t share their location, but he’s told me it’s safe. Nick knows where he is, if it all goes to shit. ”

Natasha nods at them all, and there isn’t much more discussion given at that. They’ve been monitoring the house in Iowa since they evacuated it, but nobody has made it there. Nobody. There hasn’t been a car, not even an animal has made it onto the grounds, and Sam’s been wondering if it was all a trap again.

“Good. Now we can work on that trap,” Steve says as he presses the button on his tablet to turn on the screen behind them. The message on it still indicates that they’re connecting, but he knows that it shouldn’t take too long before his call makes it to Clint’s own device. They’d agreed on that via messages, that Clint should be a part of the plan.

Wanda expressed some resentment at that, because she felt that Clint needed to stay out of there. If he were to be compromised by either of them, he shouldn’t know how or why. It would be best if he didn’t know, and as much as Steve understood her concern, it felt more like she was trying to take her own measures to keep them safe. She even suggested she erase all their short term memory in case someone tried to get any information out of them. Of course, Steve had refused that idea, but the mere fact that she had suggested it made him uncomfortable. What if she chose to do it without telling them? They wouldn’t even realize it until it was too late.

“So gotta figure out a way to get Ronin into a location where we have the advantage,” Steve states, as the connection flakes out. He notices Natasha picking up the tablet and making the call again, trying to connect with Clint. There’s an edge to everything, as if they’re all more alert than they’ve been for a while. Barney is sitting on a chair, slightly to the side, as if he doesn’t want to be a part of it, but wants to assist them anyway.

James had assured Steve that Barney would be a key player, and that they would need him. If anything, and they had to kill Ronin, it would be best for someone like Barney to do the dirty work. (Not that Steve had any problems with killing Ronin if it came to it, but as James reminded him, they’re public now. People have a right to know what’s going on, and their stint in Canada with Petit has slowly been gaining popularity, with people calling out for some sort of trial or at least for some explanation).

“I think we should use Clint as bait-” Natasha starts when the connection finally goes through to Clint, and his face appears on the screen. She interrupts to look up at him, and sees that he’s - cleverly - hidden any information as to where he is located. “Hey, Hawkeye. All settled in hiding?”

“Were you talking about using me as bait?” he asks, and they all see his worry. He’s got puffy eyes, and it seems like he hasn’t slept in a while. Barney knows that it’s because he’s probably spent some hours securing the area and making sure that nobody there knew anything and that they were safe to stay put for a couple of days. Those things take time, and knowing Clint… Well, he wouldn’t have slept until he was sure.

Natasha continues, as if undisturbed. “Yeah, but I know you’re not going out, so I’m thinking using Barney here instead.”

All eyes turn to Barney, whose eyebrows have just reached as high as they can. “In case you haven’t noticed, we are related, but not in the identical twins sort of way. I think an assassin like Ronin might just notice the difference.”

“If you’d let me finish,” Natasha starts again, as she throws something at him, “we can cloak your real face and make it look like you’re Clint.”

Barney catches the clear fabric with a quick motion, and Wanda frowns. Steve knows this, he’s seen her use it before. “The holoskin?”

“Yep, it’s a feature Fitz invented in his spare time some years ago, very practical. A lot easier to handle than what the IMF uses,” she states, as she looks up at the screen with a smirk on her face.

Clint, even though he looks exhausted, smiles back. “Don’t be mean with the IMF, Tasha, they’re trying as hard as they can.”

James looks back and forth between the two but chooses to opt out of the conversation, knowing it’s a longer explanation and he hasn’t got the time for it. Natasha cocks her head at Barney. “It’s a holographic transmitter that modifies your voice and your facial traits,” she explains, side eyeing Steve. “Used it to fuck up Pierce’s plans right before I leaked all of SHIELD’s files.”

Barney picks it up and lets it fold out, as he arches an eyebrow unimpressed. “And I’ll pass as Clint? Don’t you think it’ll take a bit more than that to lure Ronin out? If I suddenly waltz out in the open like this, I think they’ll suspect a trap.”

“Agreed,” Clint pitches up from the screen, and Steve turns his head to Wanda.

“We’re going to send them a message,” Steve says, as Sam moves forward. “We get War Machine up in the air, doing reconnaissance, making sure Ronin’s alone, and then we pair Barney as Clint up with Wanda. They know that you guys are close, so they’ll take it as incentive. Sam and I will stand by as support, and Natasha will be the last piece of the puzzle. You can take him?” he finishes, after having looked at Wanda and gotten her agreement.

Natasha knows that Wanda dislikes Barney. Not because he isn’t trustworthy, but because she doesn’t know him very well. However, in this situation, it seems she’s willing to do what she’s been told. However, Natasha notices Clint’s frown on the screen and turns her attention to him.

“Shouldn’t it be Wanda and Barney as the last ones? Since, we want to trap Ronin, not kill him, shouldn’t it be that way so that you guys can secure him and get him safely out of there?” he chimes in, and Sam nods.

“Good comment,” Sam states, as James shakes his head.

“No, no, we have to get him all the way in. Natasha can knock him out, and if he makes it difficult, Sam and Steve can swoop in and knock him on the head,” he says, but this time, Barney interrupts.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. If he’s going to go after Clint, he should be the last one, and Natasha should be hiding in there with us.”

“But, wouldn’t that mean that he’d have to face Wanda, you as Clint and Natasha all together? You think he’s cocky enough to believe he can do that?” James asks, and Barney purses his lips.

Clint speaks next. “I mean, he almost took out Cap twice, and he stabbed me good. Why don’t you just tell him to go through all of you to get to Barney-as-me?”

“That’s beyond the point,” Natasha finally says, as she looks at Barney. “It’s a trap, and an incentive to talk to him. I’ll knock him to his knees and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Alright, maybe, let’s say, James in the air, yeah? Then, Sam and Steve to make sure he means business, and then right before he runs into me, have him see Wanda and Clint, right before I take him out.”

“Sounds good to me,” Steve shrugs, as both Wanda and Clint shake their heads.

“I do not think it is a good idea to tease him,” Wanda says.

“Nah, I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to let that get him off plan.” Clint says.

Natasha puts her thumb and index to the bridge of her nose and exhales hard. “Alright, so what do you propose?” It’s not exactly frustration, it’s just… They are six people trying to make a plan fit, and she’s not seeing the point. They’re wasting time. Finally, Sam steps forward.

“Alright, how about this,” he begins, “Barney-as-Clint first, with Wanda, so he knows we mean business, they lure him inside, since he followed Steve well that first time he came here, he’s not going to attack right away, he’s cleverer than that, so get him inside, and then as we weave our way inside, get Wanda to push him in another direction, towards me and Cap. Then, if we can’t talk through to him, Natasha swoops in and does her stuff on him.”

Clint clears his throat, but finally nods to that suggestion. “You gotta take off his knives too,” he does add, to which Barney raises his hand and index.

“No, actually, let him keep them. If we try to disarm him, he’ll know we’re up to no good.” James nods, and Wanda takes a step back. She looks determined, and if Natasha knows the young girl well, she knows that this time, she won’t let Ronin get away with it. They’ve been practicing recognizing auras and feelings and the feel of a soul, and maybe, just maybe, Wanda might be able to pick something up from Ronin.

It doesn’t really matter. Steve has asked Natasha to unmask him if things turn sour, to make sure he isn’t someone they already know and make sure that they’re not up against someone who’s being controlled against their own will. Natasha could still remember the look on Steve’s face as they rode in the SHIELD/HYDRA vehicle, right after he’d stopped fighting on the bridge. When he’d recognized Bucky as the one who was being sent after them.

She understood only too well that he wanted to make sure it wasn’t any ghost of his past. Or any of their past, really. And with all the sudden ghosts from Clint’s past having shown up in the last couple of weeks, she doesn’t blame him. Better that, or they might stand with a dead relative in a samurai suit.

“Alright, let’s do a last sum up of what we’re going to do,” Steve starts, and they all move closer, even Barney who folds his arms, still carrying the holoskin in his hand. “We do it here. Barney, you figure out a way to get a message to them, any of them or all of them. They’ve put Petit’s death on our shoulders, make the message about that, that we’re going to fight back on them and that security footage on scene proves Duquesne did it.” Pause, Barney nods.

“Give him a time and a place to show up, alone. He’ll know we’re after him, but it doesn’t matter. It’s time that we do this on our terms, and him showing up is a guarantee of that. Clint, you work something out if Barney needs your face in the message, but stay low. Don’t get aggressive, just tell him to come here, and that if he wants a dead avenger on his tab, he’s more than welcome to try it out.”

Natasha arches her shoulders and makes her neck crack as Steve pauses again, to look at them all. She’s noticed that, whenever he decides to take on the mantel of a captain, like he is, he becomes more than that. It’s the look in his eyes that make it so, because he forgets all the personal and all the feelings that are involved - it’s the mission and the mission only. Like when they were going after the helicarriers? It didn’t matter if Bucky was there, he was going to go through with it anyway. Bucky showing up was just a bonus. (Even though they had counted on it).

“James will keep an eye out for any company he might bring, but so far he’s operated on his own every time he’s come out for us. He’ll see a glimpse of Barney-as-Clint accompanied by Wanda to prove that we’re waiting for him, and then you guys move out of the way. Lead him to us, quietly. Barney, just stay in character, you know your brother well enough to pull it off. Wanda, if you feel anything that can prove to be an advantage, I want you to take action on that immediately, don’t wait for instructions alright? As soon as you’ve lead him to Sam and I, we’ll try to talk him down. He’ll think he needs to go through us to get to Clint, but it’ll be incentive to get him to talk and maybe discuss another option. Natasha’s our joker, if you feel that he’s not going to accept any of our propositions, make it through to us and help us take him down. Bites, batons, whatever, but we need him alive.”

Steve pauses again.

“I don’t want to pull the hood off a familiar face, alright?”

* * *

It’s been so long since the last time he visited him. It’s been so long. Clint’s been paying his bills, and sending him pictures of the kids in a sealed envelope, sent under another name than his own, but it’s still been years since the last time that he went to visit him.

The ride to the clinic’s been quiet. Lila’s been playing on Laura’s phone for the better part of the trip, trying out her skills on Duolingo. She’s set it to Russian, which is her latest idea. That way, she’d said when she’d started it, she could learn to talk about secrets with Natasha and Wanda. (Clint wasn’t sure if Lila had forgotten he spoke Russian too, or if she was just acting like she didn’t know). Cooper’s been sleeping, to Lila’s left, his pillow set against the window, his head’s weight holding it there. Laura’s looked over her shoulder several times to see that his jaw has fallen down because of gravity, but only exchanged a look with Clint instead of commenting on it.

Nathaniel’s been sitting in his baby chair, to Lila’s right. He hasn’t said much during the ride, other than every other sound when Lila tried another Russian word. Clint can see him in the rearview mirror, and every now and then, Nathaniel’s looking back at him. That usually prompts one of the biggest smiles Nathaniel is able of showing now, and some wiggly hands and feet.

Laura’s been feeling better, too. She’s been sleeping at night, sounder than what she’s been able to lately anyway. Clint’s sleeping in Nathaniel’s room, in the safehouse. It’s a little out of Kingston, Ontario, which means that the drive to the little clinic in Toronto is barely four hours. With breaks, for the kids. And for Laura.

Clint hadn’t slept since they’d made it there. He’d checked that the safehouse was indeed safe, and he’d made rounds again, and again, in the neighborhood to check up on new neighbors, on new locals, new kids, new faces. But, in the end, everything had turned out in a green light, and he’d finally managed a night’s sleep, taking care of Nathaniel.

It was a small house, compared to some of the others, with a room for each of them if they wanted, Lila having hers and Cooper his, Laura taking on the master bedroom, and Clint taking the guest bedroom with Nathaniel. He’d pushed the double bed all the way to the wall, making sure to put enough pillows against it, so that Nathaniel wouldn’t roll around at night and bang into the wall. He hadn’t used the safe house with a child yet, and so there was no crib for them to put Nathaniel in. And thus, he’d slept as the physical barrier between his two year old son and the floor, hoping that Nathaniel wouldn’t wake up at night, try to crawl over him and make it out of the bed.

(He hadn’t. He’d woken up, slapped Clint in the face by accident, and fallen asleep again).

Clint had spent the hour after that looking at his sleeping son. His metabolism got hot at night, as did Clint’s, what with his body working off the day’s worries. But, he still worried about Nathaniel. He got so hot, almost up to feverish temperatures. He’d spent some time gently massaging Nathaniel’s stomach, and his chest, keeping his thumb over the area he knew Nathaniel carried a little mark, which mirrored his own burn scar from Loki’s scepter.

When Clint takes the last left turn off the highway, he slightly nudges at Laura’s thigh, as she’s been dozing slightly on the way. She still gets so ridiculously tired, so fast. But, she’s on her way to getting better, he knows. And he likes that thought very much. He turns his head slightly to get Lila’s attention, and he motions to Cooper with his thumb. Lila takes the hint and hands her phone to Laura, letting it fall over her mom’s shoulder, and nudging her brother to wake up.

“Hey, Coop, wake up, we’re there.”

“Hmmmm?” Cooper says, as he blinks several times. Clint can just make out his son’s face in the side mirror, and his smile spreads. As soon as Cooper’s head moves from the pillow it snails its way down, and the yawn that Cooper finally lets loose makes them all yawn in turn.

“Nate, we’re gonna meet Uncle Buck!” Lila explains, and Nathaniel wiggles his head side to side, as he looks out the window, putting his fingers in his mouth again. His feet have been hitting the back of Laura’s seat in a regular pattern for a while.

“Remember Buck?” Clint asks, as he turns the wheel completely, making a 90 degree turn to the right, into a parking lot. Their car’s hired, so nobody can recognize them. He’d rented it under a cover name, the same he’s been using to send Buck the pictures of the kids. Cooper rubs his still sleepy eyes, drops left behind by the sandman dried in the crook of his eyes.

“Nah,” he starts, as he yawns again. “I can’t remember him very well, but he was funny I think.”

Laura chuckles, as Clint reverses into a parking spot. It’s not a perfect reverse, but he doesn’t care - there’s plenty of room to the left and to the right.

“Well, get ready to meet him again,” Clint says, as he pulls out the key from the ignition and sets the car to park. He hears the clicking of seatbelts, and Cooper makes it out of the car first, stretching his ever growing body as Lila pushes him out of the way. Laura takes her time, but Cooper comes to help her, as Clint takes the other way around the car to get to Nathaniel’s car door. Opening it, he smiles at his son who’s sheepishly smiling at him, and, unhooking Nathaniel’s chair from the seat, he pulls him out of the car before closing the door with a nudge of his hip.

They make it up the stairs quietly, Cooper staying by his mom’s side, even though she’s insisting that she can do it herself. Clint is carrying Nathaniel’s diaper bag over his shoulder, Nathaniel in his chair in one hand, and holding Lila’s hand in the other.

They’d talked about bringing the kids or not, but Clint had flat out refused to let them stay at home on their own. He needed to talk to Buck about what had happened, he needed to understand what was going on and why it was happening now. Barney had told him that it had all started with Buck, and so, he needed to talk to him. Going alone was out of the question too, and so… Well, it had turned into a family picnic.

The automatic doors turned on as the sensors picked up on them, and Clint headed to the admissions’ office right away, handing the lady behind the desk his ID. He settles Nathaniel down on the ground steadily, and lets go of Lila’s hand.

“Oh, Mr. Martinelli,” the clerk says with a smile on her face. “Here to check up on Mr. Chisholm?” she asks.

“Yep, it’s been too long, and family’s gotten bigger than last time,” he says, a genuine smile creeping onto his face. The clerk, whose name is Robyn, looks down at Cooper and Laura who have sat down in the waiting room, then at Lila and Nathaniel who seems to be drumming on an invisible drum while making babbling noises.

“His health’s been on the decline lately,” she says, and Clint moves slightly to the side as Lila kneels, untying her little brother from his seat, not listening in on the adult conversation happening. “Ever since that young girl came to visit him, he’s been… Worried, I think that’s the word I’m looking for,” she says, nodding to herself. Clint’s smile fades as he takes in the information.

As soon as Lila unhooks the straps holding Nathaniel down, the toddler’s made it onto his feet and Clint barely has the time to thank the clerk for her time before Nathaniel lets out a shriek of joy.

“Hey, come back here little buddy,” Clint half yells across the hall as he reaches down and swoops up Nathaniel, with one arm and holding him on his stomach. He picks up the chair as Lila heads back to Laura.

“He’s in room 214,” the clerk says and Clint smiles back at her. Lila shows off her toothless smile too, before heading down the corridor, Nathaniel making noises indicating he wants to be put down.

Laura knocks on the door as Clint readjusts Nathaniel in his grasp, and when the usual “go away” bark comes from within, Laura pushes the door open.

The kids swoop inside quietly, and Clint closes the door behind him. “Hey Buck,” he says, as he puts down Nathaniel’s chair onto the floor, holding him against his hip as he takes Lila’s hand. Cooper is hiding behind Laura too, shyly. Buck’s facing the other way, looking out the window.

It takes a couple of seconds before he manages to turn the wheelchair around, but when he realizes who’s standing there, his eyes open up in wonder. “Clint!” Buck calls out, and a smile lights up his face. He’s gotten oh so thinner than Clint remembers him, but as he crosses the short distance between him and Buck, Clint can’t help but feel grateful that Buck is still here, that he’s still alive.

Nathaniel wiggles in Clint’s arms, and to give himself some more space, Clint settles Nathaniel down on Buck’s lap. “Hey, Buck. How you doing?” he asks, and Buck blinks for a couple of seconds, before looking over Clint’s shoulder at Laura, Cooper and Lila who are standing slightly to the side.

“Laura, it’s good to see you. And, Cooper, right? You’ve grown big, boy. And you must be little Lila, you look prettier than in your pictures,” Buck grins, and Clint goes down on his knee to be at his level. Nathaniel’s turned around to look at Buck.

“Dada?”

“Nah, that’s Buck. He’s the one who taught me to shoot a bow and arrow,” Clint says, as he strokes Nathaniel’s cheek gently. “Buck, meet Nathaniel Pietro Barton, latest addition to the Barton family.”

Buck manages to make Nathaniel hop slightly, before Laura ushers the kids to the side, handing them their travel bags. They’re curious, but still too shy to talk with him. She sits down on Buck’s bed, and closes her eyes, breathing out, before looking at Clint and giving him the go sign.

Clint takes one of Nathaniel’s hand, as Nathaniel tries to grab the plastic tubes going to Buck’s nose. “Wanda says hi,” he quietly says, moving back up to a standing position, pulling the stool that he’s noticed in the corner of the room to sit next to him.

“Says that you were good to her,” he continues, his smile slowly declining. Nathaniel’s still starstruck, obviously, as he tries to pull out the plastic tube another time. This time, it’s Buck who catches his hand, a rusty chuckle coming from deep his chest.

“Hey there, lil buddy,” he says, trying to ignore Clint’s gaze, and enjoy, for just a moment, the complicity with a child who’s still too young to understand exactly what’s going on. Clint allows him this, as Buck makes a face at Nathaniel, who tries to imitate it, only to fail. Nathaniel’s laugh echoes in the room and Clint puts his hand on his back slightly, helping keep him steady.

“We’re staying up in Kingston,” Clint starts, and Buck looks up, nodding. He knows why they’re here. There are no other reasons why Clint would bring his entire family with him other than to keep them safe.

Clint lets out a sigh. “Barney told me,” he starts, picking up Nathaniel from Buck’s lap and settling him on his thigh. “That you’re the one who gave him word about Jacques and Maynard first.” He pauses, as he lets his fingers run through Nathaniel’s hair. It’s damp, and he probably needs to get his onesie changed for a dry one, but it doesn’t matter right now.

“Just wanted to say thanks,” he continues, avoiding Buck’s gaze. “For looking out. Letting me know. We managed to catch it before it blew over,” he goes on, Nathaniel letting his head fall back to look up at his father. “Talked with Nick and Nat about turning into a training session for the New Avengers too. Since, you know, they’re a new team and all. Cap’s got a good team, a solid team. Wanda, you met her, she’s formidable and incredible.”

“And strong,” Buck interjects, and Clint can’t help himself from nodding at that.

“Lost her brother in Sokovia,” he comments, Nathaniel having found his favorite position again, sitting against Clint’s stomach, his fingers in his mouth. “Pietro Maximoff. He was such a fucking punk,” he says, and the look Laura gives him makes him roll his eyes. None of the kids react to the f-bomb, so he goes on. “But he saved me and another kid from dying, but he got shot by Ultron in doing so.” Clint’s eyes fall down onto the top of Nathaniel’s head, and he bends forward to kiss it gently.

“Why we named Nate here after him.” He pauses again, and this time, it’s Buck who decides to speak.

“They came to ask for help. Jacques and Maynard,” he starts, interrupted by a coughing fit, which he hides by coughing into his shoulder. Clint knows there’s several cancers going at his former mentor, and he can’t help but feel a ball of worry and pain in his stomach, thinking about how human they all are in the end. “Wanted to know if I was in on the plan to get back at you and Laura for screwing them over when you left.” He pauses again, takes a deep breath. Nathaniel opens his eyes wide and throws his head back to look at the ceiling.

“Said I didn’t want in on any plan to get back at you ‘cuz you were the only one taking care of me anymore,” Buck finally says, flatly. There isn’t a single hint of emotion at it, and Clint doesn’t feel angry. Nor like Buck owes him anything.

If it weren’t for Buck, Clint would have nothing. Sure, Jacques Duquesne had taught him how to throw knives and how to use a sword, but Buck was the one who put a bow in Clint’s hand and taught him all about aiming and shooting. He’d hit it into Clint several times, Clint still had the belt marks on his back to prove it, but without him… He would never have made it this far.

“I still got your back, kid,” Buck finally manages to say, and Clint’s heart warms. He knows that Buck will be the closest that Cooper, Lila and Nathaniel ever get to a grandfather, and he knows that, deep in his heart, the affection for his old mentor runs deeper than that. There’s so much history between them, that he can’t help but feel like he owes it to him to take care of him.

Nathaniel lifts his hand and points at Buck with it, before worming his way to the edge of Clint’s thigh, making it down to his feet and crossing the little distance over to Buck’s knee.

“I’m gonna go after them,” Clint says, and Buck nods, gravely. “They painted a target on me, on my family and my team, and I’m not gonna let that happen.”

Buck lets out another laugh that turns into a coughing fit, and he turns to spit in a metal bowl on the floor. Nathaniel bends slightly forward to look at the bowl, before turning his head back at Buck. “Da.”

Clint still has no idea if Nathaniel just says the word Da or if he’s understood that it means yes in Russian.

“Wanda showed me what she’s seen.”

Pause.

“You took up Ronin,” he comments, somberly, and when Clint nods, he shakes his head. “Ronin is the spirit of vengeance. How did you manage to get involved with them without recognizing you?” he asks, and Clint looks down at Nathaniel, then peeks at Lila and Cooper who are too busy with their things, and takes up his shirt, showing off his stitches at Buck, who lets out a whistle.

“Barney and I have been playing a dangerous game, but it’s time we reveal the rules to the New Avengers,” Clint finishes, bending forward and picking up Nathaniel by carrying him under the crook of his shoulders. “Barney’s put on the samurai’s drapings too, to bluff them all.”

Buck motions to the wound with a nod of his head. “And, you’ve gone all over, it would seem.”

An affectionate look passes onto Clint eyes, and he turns Nathaniel around to readjust the onesie he’s wearing. “You should see what we did to Cap,” he comments.

Laughter turns to coughing yet again, and Clint gets up, holding Nathaniel in a strong hold against his hip, turning the wheelchair to face the window again.

“Hey!” Lila suddenly calls, and both Buck and Clint turn to look at her. She’s got a very serious expression on her face, and seems to be weighing different options in her mind. “Mister Buck, aren’t you too old to be an uncle?” she asks, and as Clint and Buck exchange a puzzled look, she goes on. “Shouldn’t you be a grandpa? Like Grandpa Nick?” she asks, and if Clint’s heart could burst with pride, it would.

“Yeah, damn right I should!” Buck interjects, and Clint starts laughing immediately. Nathaniel feels the laugh too and starts giggling as well.

“Language,” Laura comments, but she knows that it’s not going to change anything - she knows Buck well enough herself to know that he’s toning it down the best he can already.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you catch that Clint's cover's name is Martinelli? ;)
> 
> No, but seriously. How did you like it? What did you think? Can you tell I'm having too much fun with this fic? Because I am. And, from here, trust me, it's going to be a big explosion next chapter, because I'm looking forward to that trap very much... I wonder why. 
> 
> Tell me all that you felt - the worry, the pain, the sadness and the happy. Tell me all of it, I want to know. Which part was your favorite and why? Which interaction did you like best? Leave a comment and a kudos, please! It fuels me so much and I'm so excited for the end of it, it's going to be such a grand finale!


	8. The Turn - Phase IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time. Ronin is on his way, and they're ready for him - or almost. Barney's with them, Wanda is helping them out too. But the fine balance between ready and surprise is a fine one, and when not all the cards are known to the players, things can turn ugly as soon as they can turn dangerous. How will it go when they New Avengers have to face Ronin? And can they trust Barney?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, sorry it took so long to update, I've moved flats in between now and the last update, the Christmas craze has got me working overtime, and I've only managed to write a couple of words here and there and that's the only reason why I haven't updated sooner.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy it, now's the time for explanations and reveals! Hope you're ready for it.
> 
> A character gets sick during this chapter (vomiting), but there shouldn't be any other trigger warnings. Happy readings!

It was so odd. To look at a face in the mirror and realize that it wasn't his on his body anymore.

Natasha had helped him set it up, and he'd been with her every inch of the way to calibrate it properly. But it was still odd. Even more so, because of the technology behind it, he now sounds like Clint too.

“This is totally fucked up,” he snorts as he manages to look away from the mirror. He doesn't like it at all, and it makes him stay on edge.

Natasha has only given him one of her usual smirks. Through the calibration process, she had asked him several times if it felt odd. He’d had to read a sentence in his own voice, and then Clint had been given the same sentence to calibrate. The holoskin was applied to his face, and held on with some sort of mechanism behind his ears. It held onto his forehead with a self adhesive substance which was a lot like Vaseline.

He still doesn't like the idea though. He follows Natasha back out from the room, into command. All heads look up from their respective works, and when he sees their eyebrows rise, he shakes his head.

“It's not polite to stare,” he says and Wanda smirks too.

“You have to lose the cowboy accent,” Sam comments, and Barney rolls his eyes.

He flips the finger at Sam as he sits down. Natasha helped him find one of Clint's back up bows, and it's lying before him. It's been a long time since he'd handled one, and now was the big question before him: would he be good enough to pass as Clint?

James nods as Barney takes the bow in hand. “Let's go to the range,” he says and Barney grips the bow harder.

He has one of his own. An old recurve, made in the old fashion where it's still one piece and can't be dismantled. It's not a longbow because of the shape of it, and it's not really a competition bow either. But it's his. This one is so inherently Clint that he can almost hear his little brother talk to his ear.

He picks up the quiver, secures it around his hips, and walks them to the range. He's seen it before, knows Clint has spent hours here, knows it's where the New Avengers train. He doesn't really mind it, but then he sees the targets set up across the room, at 5, 8, 15, 25 and 45 meters from him.

He goes to the line that's been traced on the floor and puts one foot on either side of it. He's actually amazed that the holoskin doesn't bother him more than that, he's almost forgotten that he's wearing it. He pulls one of the arrows from the quiver. It's one of Clint's, made of carbon fiber, with a metal head. This one is a regular arrow, not one of his trick arrows. (Even though Barney has seen them, he has never shot one of them).

He settles his feet, parallel to each other, his body facing at 90 degrees from the targets. He lifts his bow arm, turns his upper body to get ready to aim. He takes a step back, readjusts his position and tries again. When he's more or less sure about his position, he puts the arrow on the arrow rest and clips it onto the string. He strokes the feathers on it, as if it's going to help it fly properly. He then lifts his arm.

He can still remember all the times Buck had told him to have his bow arm extended. To mind his elbow. To make sure he didn't grip the bow too hard,  and concentrate on letting the arrow do its job. He takes the string, about two inches below the arrow, and pulls back. He can feel the muscles in his back tighten at the movement, remembers that Clint usually pulls around 50” on his recurve, more if it's a compound. It doesn't bother him either.

He pulls his hand back, settles it against his jawline, to his anchor point. The arrow sits horizontal in front of his eye, and as he aims, he lets out a deep breath and takes the time to settle the arrow on the target closest to him.

He releases the bow, and it takes less than half a second for the arrow to embed itself in the 10+ circle of the target. There isn't a sound as he moves to the next target, and repeats again. The closest targets are the easiest ones, especially because it means that he doesn't have to control his movements that much.

When he gets to the target 15 metres from him, he looks over his shoulder. Natasha is looking at him, expectant, and Steve wears the best damn pokerface he has seen in a very long time. Wanda seems tense, while Sam is more focused on looking at the targets than Barney himself.

As he pulls the string back Barney thinks back to all the times he's seen Clint do it, to all the times his baby brother has told him to correct his form. All the times that Barney has told Clint has a shitty form to begin with,  and that he shouldn't be the one to give advice.

He takes aim, keeps the string against his jaw,  breathes out, and releases. The arrow flies, and embeds itself in the central ring, slightly to the left but nothing special that should be a problem.

“This is so surreal,” James says, and Barney raises his eyebrows, as he moves to the next target.

“Why is that?”

“Because, you shoot as good as Clint and you look like Clint and you sound like Clint. It's creepy, man,” Sam continues and Natasha allows herself to chuckle,  while Wanda smiles bright.

“Hey, if Clint ever decides to retire for real, can we just ask Barney to be Hawkeye instead of him?” James chimes in, and Barney shakes his head.

“You forget I'm five years older than him,” he says, as he pulls up the bow again, settles an arrow on the holder, and aims on the last target. Silence falls on them all, and there's half a second where he doubts his skills.

But then, he lets the arrow fly again, and it flies, settling on the line between the ten and the nine. He grunts, dissatisfied with the result, but Steve walks up to him as he goes for the last one. “You're not going to have to prove yourself in marksmanship,” Steve says, but Barney shakes his head.

“I have to be perfect,” he finishes, pulling up the bow one last time, aiming one last time. The time it takes the arrow to fly all the way to 45 meters gives Barney time to doubt, but this time, he's corrected the trajectory, and it hits a sure 10+.

“Looks like we've got our replacement Hawkeye,” Steve says, with a clap on Barney's shoulder. It's not something that Steve has ever done before, and Barney wonders if it's because he looks and sounds like Clint. It can be tricky to remember that it's not actually Clint handling the bow, and he knows how hard it is to admit it.

* * *

“Best get some rest,” Natasha says. Wanda looks up from her chair, looks up from some papers she's been reading, over and over again. “Ronin is going to make it here tomorrow if all goes well, and we're going to have to be well rested.”

Wanda doesn't like the way Natasha says it. “Why does it sound like you expect it to go badly?” she asks, and Natasha shrugs.

“I don't know. I just have a feeling that, so far, Ronin has not only been able to beat us, he's managed to sent all of us into the hospital. All of us, except you and Rhodey.” She pauses, as her hand goes to the arrow necklace hanging around her neck. Frowning, she finally smiles at Wanda again.

“He'll come at some point using the day, that way we have a better chance of catching him. In the darkness, he'll be too dangerous.” Natasha looks down at the papers Wanda is reading. “You're looking into Princess Python?” she asks, picking up the paper and looking at Wanda’s scribbles.

“I think that we need to know our enemy like he knows us,” Wanda replies, nonchalantly. She puts out her hand and Natasha hands her the paper back again.

“We're facing Ronin tomorrow. We've all experienced his skills, but we still don't know who he is or why he wants this.” Pushing some of the papers to the side, Natasha heists herself up and sits on the table, looking down at her thighs, gripping the edge of the table as she makes herself at home there.

“I've talked to Clint about Ronin. You told me that Chisholm said something to you about Ronin too, that he's a personification of revenge and anger. I've seen what anger and revenge do to people. I've felt it. Ronin is the one we have to be truly aware of, because his motivations are personal and clouded in mystery.” Natasha sighs, as before she scratches the light scar on her throat, where Ronin’s blade had cut through the skin. “Clint compiled a file on Ronin, knows that there's been murders and assassination carried out under Ronin’s name before.”

She scratches her chin on her shoulder, as she readjusts her ponytail. “I have no idea what to expect, but we have to prepare for everything. I'll try to fry his electric mind barrier with one of my bites, but I don't know if it'll help. It fried the kill switch Pierce put on me when I posed as a member of the World Security Council, so maybe it'll work on his gear... “ She smiles weakly at Wanda whose eyes have grown cold.

“He can't make it out of here alive,” Natasha finally says, and hops down from her seating position. She's looks over her shoulder as she walks out. “GO to bed soon, Wanda,” she states, stopping at the door. Wanda can feel that she's hesitating to say something, but she refuses to look into her head to find out what it was. When Natasha leaves anyway, Wanda is left feeling sick.

She stands up, pushing the chair out behind her, and goes to the bathroom. Pushing the door open with a blast of her red energy, she heads straight for the toilet bowl, and before she knows it, she's throwing up the little food she's managed to eat lately.

The worry,  the never ending worry, that has been plaguing her as of late is making her physically sick. She can remember being afraid, being stressed. But not like this. She feels like death is dancing around her at all times, haunting her like a monster would a lost soul. She closes her eyes as another waves hits her, pushing her stomach to its limits.

As she falls to her knees, pressing the button to flush, she can feel the cold floor. She's sweating, her palms itching. She can feel it, coming from within, as it's trying to get her to stop. Her feet have started itching too, and the sweat is cold and damp. Her breathing fastens, and when her ass hits the floor, she hears the door to her room open again.

Hands help her up, move her hair from her face, and before she knows it, a cold and damp cloth has made its way on her forehead. When she opens her eyes, she thinks she sees Clint. What is he doing here? Shouldn't he be with his family?

“I ain't Clint, kiddo,” Barney's voice finally reaches through to her, through the maze that seems to keep her imprisoned. “Clint's with his wife and kids, a long way from here.” He puts his hand on her shoulder, weaving it slowly to the middle of her spine, and pushes her from the wall to the toilet bowl, picking her hair up and securing it with an elastic he's probably snatched from somewhere. He sets it up in a ponytail.

“Hey, breathe, sweetheart, breathe,” he says, as he pulls off the cloth, puts his hand on her forehead and shakes his own head. “It's fine, don't panic okay? We're going to get this bastard,” he says, turning on the faucet and throwing the cloth into the sink to cool it down.

“Here, I got you,” he finally says as she feels another wave of nausea hit her, and when she pulls herself up, strong enough to hold still over the toilet, he holds her hair up, and flushes as soon as she's done. When she almost trips down again, her arms trembling, Barney catches her, holding her up with his arms under her armpits.

He sets her down onto the floor, before picking the cloth from the sink, filled with cold water. He cleans her head and eyes with it, and it feels good. She remembers someone taking care of her like this, but she doesn't know if it's Pietro or someone else. When he puts the cloth on her forehead, she closes her eyes and allows him to take over. There's nothing left in her stomach anyway.

* * *

The day Clint had set up his family in the safe house had been the day Barney had been in contact with the Circus of Crime. He’d gone out of the New Avengers facility, and he’d made it out, down through Hell’s Kitchen, through Harlem, through all the neighborhoods, looking for a contact.

He’d known where to find her. She stayed in the same bar that she always stayed at, a little bar that Barney had been known to go to as well. He’d gone in there, unarmed, nothing hiding his face, ready for a fight and for his message to go through. The man behind the counter, a strong and large bartender with a friendly smile, had looked up at him and asked him what he wanted.

That’s when she’d spoken up and asked for a Jack Daniel’s. Just like old times. Barney had seen Zelda DuBois not too recently, but he’d always remember how beautiful she had been when she was younger. She was almost as old as him now, and even in her forties, she still managed to look absolutely stunning. She’d been expecting him, she said. She’d been told to wait here until the Avengers decided to make a deal, and had been told to wait for one of them to show up.

And there he was.

He gave his orders to her: Ronin, alone, at the New Avengers facility. If Ronin could take them on, and walk out of there with bloody hands, they would allow them a ride to Clint. They would get him there, and they would make sure that they got their revenge.

Zelda had laughed, of course. Saying something along the lines of, were the Avengers really ready to gamble with Hawkeye’s life like that? But of course no, Barney had said. That was just him. If Ronin made it out of there with a dead Avenger on his conscience, Barney would lead the Circus of Crime to Clint himself.

Wasn’t that a good deal?

She smiled at him, a dirty, knowing smile. Told him that she missed Clint. Missed the way he blushed when her snakes would roll around his ankles and his naked chest. Missed the way he used to look at her, until they merged with the Circus of Crime and that nasty bitch Laura came into the story.

Then, after they both finished their drinks, Barney had left with her.

* * *

“Wanda is freaking out about this,” Natasha states, her arms crossed across her chest. There isn’t much doubt, and Barney can’t seem to realize the seriousness of the situation. Natasha is tense. They don’t know who this Ronin guy is, and they’ve just invited him inside.

Sam is wearing his Falcon apparel, and James has suited up. As has Cap. They’ve given Barney one of Clint’s spare costumes. He fit right into them, except maybe that he was a bit too big, but that didn’t show because of the height of the boots. He’d pulled on the holoskin, made sure it was properly adjusted.

If anyone were to walk in on them right now, all they’d see would be the usual crew, plus Clint. They hadn’t told anyone about their plan to get Barney to pose as Clint.

Steve speaks next. “And rightfully so, Ronin is going to be coming for blood.” There’s a heavy feeling to it all, and Barney wants out. He wants out. He wants out of this before it all goes to hell, and the look he exchanges with Sam shares his panic.

They have no idea what to expect. And, so far, Ronin has been able to beat them all at their skill and it has taken them a long time to get over it. Natasha had summed up the situation for them earlier today, giving them a rough timeline of events. It’s soon going to be two months since Petit was taken and it all had gone into motion. Two months of hunting ghosts and stabbing in the dark.

“Trickshot, you take Wanda with you and go outside to greet him. From there, lead him to us.” Steve motions to himself and Sam, and Barney nods. “Then, from there we’ll see how it goes.”

Picking up the bow he’s been practising with, Barney looks at Wanda and nods. She pushes herself up. She hasn’t slept all night, and neither has Barney. He stayed with her, until the sun rose, until they all had to get up and get ready. Talked with her, about himself. About Clint. About how it felt to lose someone close, about the pain of the world and the beauty of it. As they exit the room, he puts his hand on her shoulder and she looks up at him.

There’s fear in her eyes. “If Ronin comes today,” she says, as her fingers reach for one of her necklaces, “he comes as a messenger of death.”

She finishes her phrase with a nod, and Barney looks up, sighs. “It’s always been that way with faceless assassins,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Steve Rogers, the man on a hunt for Bucky Barnes.

“They come for blood, and they disappear soon after.”

“Why is it like that?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps, because the only reason why they put on a mask is because that way, they can let go of what makes them human. So they can forget that they have a soul in the moment they wear it,” he mutters, and even though he’s speaking through a voice distorter that makes it sound like Clint, he knows that she can feel his worry and his pain.

“Did you wear a mask, Barney?” she asks.

He has a faint smile, before he replies. “I did, for a while.” The pang of sadness and regret that has made it into his voice makes it tremble, and when he realizes it, he shuts up. She doesn’t look at him. She can probably feel it, inside her head. All the pain, the sadness. The deaths Barney has on his conscience, somehow.

“Why?”

He sighs again, as they reach the front doors of the facility. The way leads to the parking lot, to where the cars and motorbikes are usually parked. There’s no other way anybody can come in, except through the roof, and there is no other reason than that to wait here.

“Because, I had to forget who I was for a while,” he says. This time, she looks at him, and she looks straight into his soul. There’s things none of the others know, that he’s only shared with Clint because Clint is his brother and he deserves to know. What he did while being with Hydra, with AIM, with Zemo - it’s best not to speak about it.

“Sometimes, we do what we think is right even though it is wrong in the eyes of others,” she says, and he closes his eyes. He can feel her in his head, and as he puts up his gloved hand to his temple, he feels her rubbing her knowledge against his mind. “And, whatever we do then, will always find a way to hunt us.”

He knows she’s speaking of Ultron. She had been the cause for Tony Stark’s madness, almost bringing an end to the entire world. The robot had seen her as a mother, Barney knew, a creator and a mistress. He’d revered her, but not enough to save her world and give her the revenge she had wanted.

“When he comes,” Barney says, and Wanda almost forgets that it’s him and not Clint she’s speaking to. They are both so similar, that she gets lost in them all the time. Clint’s mind is sharp, like a knife, clear and ready, but also warm and filled with affection. Barney’s is very much alike, except it’s more misty. The lines aren’t as sharp, but there’s the same heart, the same love, and the same passion in there. She recognizes Barney’s aura now, and if anything, she knows that he can be trusted.

After all, he is the one who has been able to help them through all of this, hasn’t he? And, if there’s any way for him to finally make it known that he isn’t going to go back to his old way, she thinks, it’s now or never. Time to take a stand and defend what he thinks is right.

But, Barney isn’t the type to fight. Not unless it means something to him. Not unless he has a direct link. And today, the day where Ronin was coming for them, would be the day where he showed his true value in her eyes.

* * *

It doesn't take long. They sit on the edge of the property for a couple of minutes, at most, before Wanda looks up from her nails. She's been biting them again, and even though she wears black nail Polish, she's still managed to bite all of her nails down.

She can feel him. She motions, quietly, to Barney who picks up his bow. She doesn't know how to explain this feeling that creeps up from her gut, the fear and the unknown, crawling its way up to her mind. As soon as she picks up on the movement, as soon as she picks up on this unknown presence, she knows. That it's him.

Barney, wearing the holoskin to look like Clint, places an arrow on the arrow rest, and pulls back the string, aiming at the edge of the property. Wanda’s hands are glowing, and she can feel the sting of electricity in her head, as her mind brushes against the protection around Ronin’s mind. It buzzes like a bee in her ear, and she feels all of her anger boil over. All her fear, all her terror, in which she spent the last night, boils over and her eyes glow red.

When Ronin’s shadow makes it to the edge of the property, Barney releases the arrow. It flies, suddenly pulsating with a red glow, making it fly steadier, faster, harder towards Ronin, who, within the blink of an eye, has his sword in hand, and cut the arrow in two as it came towards him.

The two pieces of the arrow clink to the floor, and fall dead on both sides of him. Wanda can feel her entire being lashing out at him, only to be met with the static electricity buzzing around his head, and her anger suddenly makes her snap. She sends a red light towards him, faster than the last one, but Ronin pushes off with a swift move, and rolls to the side as the light burns one of the cars in the parking lot.

As she prepares to send another wave at him, Barney catches her wrist. She looks at him, her eyes red, angry, furious, but his nod reminds her. Bring him inside. Bring him to Steve and Sam. Then to Nat. They hear James’ War Machine thrusters up above, and as they look up to the sky, they see him hovering not too far.

Barney hooks his arm through the bow, and turns his back on Ronin, who has gotten to his feet again.

Looking over her shoulder, Wanda looks at Ronin who has started following them, and she wonders. Who the hell is he? And why does he hate them so much?

But, before she knows it, before she makes it to the safe point where Sam and Steve would take over for her, a hit to the side of her head makes her lose focus. She looks up at Barney, who has pulled off the holoskin.

She sees his eyes, filled with guilt and with doubt, and when his fist collides with her temple again, her last thought is why? Why is he doing this? They'd spend this time together… training together…

Why, Barney?

* * *

It seems that as soon as Wanda is out of the picture, things start moving again. Ronin makes it to the edge of the property in a sprint, and as Barney runs towards his car, James can't help but think what the hell is going on?

Of course, he loses focus on Ronin the moment he hears Wanda go down and heads straight for Barney.

The War Machine armor throws a small explosive at Barney's feet, and as the older Barton tumbles to the floor, James touches down. “Where you going?” he asks, as doubt flares up in his chest.

All this time, they'd trusted him, Clint had told them to trust him, they'd told him he'd be alright. Why was he running now? He'd compromised the entire mission by revealing himself to Ronin, who now knew that there was no Clint on the premises. Which had to mean that- fuck. He was going to go after one of the others.

“Where you running to, Barney?” he asks again, as Barney coughs up some blood from the ground, and he watches him roll to the side, heaving for breath. There's a spot of red on the ground, what James assumes is blood. The War Machine armor sets up some more weapons, a gun fixed on Barney's face.

“You punks,” Barney finally replies, as he lies flat on his back. He lies flat, spreads his arms around his body as he watches James. “Always thought that you'd have the upper hand, didn't you?” he says, spitting to the side again, the spit and blood mixed in his mouth tinting his chin. He cleans it with a swift movement of his wrist.

“Ronin ain't gonna stop until he kills one of you,” he goes on, and James gets the armor to open up the face mask.

“So you took the call of dooming one of us instead of yourself?”

“I'm protecting my goddamned little brother, you fucking moron,” Barney growls, gets caught in a fit of coughing, and moves to the side, creeping together in ball as he clutches his stomach. Yup, a definite hit there. James shakes his head.

“We were gonna get Ronin, why did you leave now?” James asks, again.

Barney laughs again. “Because,  you were never gonna get Ronin. He was always going to get you,” he coughs, as he pushes himself from the side, to a sitting position, as the sound of a fight breaks out behind them. Barney sees the hesitation in James’ face and smirks, rubbing his chin again.

“Better go save your friends,” Barney mutters, and the doubt in James’ face turns to his advantage when James decides to turn around,  and jump up, to head into the building. Barney sits there, for a couple of seconds, as he takes deeps breaths. He looks down at his body, the spare suit he'd borrowed from Clint now stained with his blood. He had no doubt it would come off, eventually.

Looking at the door and the entrance to the facility behind him, he couldn't help but wonder. How had they all planned this? He looks up again, and pushes himself up to a standing position. It's not too hard, except on his breathing. He's probably gotten a couple of bent if not broken ribs, but those will heal in time. He smirks to himself, as he turns his head.

There they are. He sees the snake before he sees her, and as the anaconda slides his way, he looks up at Zelda who’s made it out of a car, in the back of the parking lot. “Told you I'd get you out of here,” she whispers, as she pulls him up by the armpits,  helping him stand up when his balance fails him.

“They're not going to be happy,” Barney mutters, and she laughs.

It's a distinct laugh, that he remembers from their times together, both years ago and more recent. “No wonder. But wait til the very end. The Ringmaster is going to be the prettiest of them all, when they get to him, isn't he?” she says, as she strokes the back of his head.

She'd agreed to this, helping Barney out, back in the beginning, when he'd told her there was a way out. Twenty years going in the world of Crime, and the new SHIELD would be willing to help her out. It had come from Clint. Barney had just been the middle man, but he'd been the one to extend his hand to her.

“Now, let's get out of here before all hell breaks loose,” she says, as Barney pulls himself into the car.

* * *

“SHIT!”

Steve’s voice is the first that makes it through the coms as they notice Wanda on the floor. They've run to meet them as they heard James shoot at something, and as soon as they’ve turned the corner to the hall and noticed her on the floor, pretty much unconscious, they've stopped up.

Ronin is standing above her, sword in hand, gripped firmly, the blade on the edge of her neck. Steve locks his eyes on Ronin, who doesn't move one inch.

“She's not an Avenger yet,” he bites at the samurai, as Sam makes it there too. James’ thrusters soon follow as well, and in what seems to be a technical knockout for Ronin, who is now both outnumbered and outgunned, the sound of the blade singing through the air is the only thing that breaks everything apart.

The sound of a knife hitting Steve’s shield echoes as War Machine hits Ronin at full speed, knocking him off his feet and throwing him to the ground. The weight of the armor should be enough to keep him down, but Ronin’s hand goes to the face of the armor, finding a crack where the different faceplates connect, and pulls. The impact of them both dents the floor slightly.

The sound of a whirring working against its framework makes Rhodey let go, and with the thrusters in action, he's off Ronin within a couple of seconds. This time, Ronin makes it to his feet in an acrobatic leap, dodging the shield, as it bumps back against the wall behind him, right back at Captain America’s arm. He's faster than Steve remembers him, more agile. More dangerous.

Sam hurries over to Wanda, checks her pulse, and as soon as he's sure Ronin won't make it after him, pulls her up and swoops her over his shoulders, to carry her as a fireman would, a stern look on his face plaguing him. This wasn't done by Ronin, this was done by Barney.

“You're not going to get her,” James says, as Ronin readjusts himself, readjusts his balance, pulling out another knife from a hidden fold on his thigh. It's a more delicate blade, more personal, more close combat. James knows that close combat isn't the strong suit of the War Machine armor, and he wonders if he shouldn't just shoot Ronin dead in the chest.

Ronin juggles with the blade in his hand for a couple of seconds, stalling, winning time, making sure that they're all where he wants them to be. Maybe this was never about Wanda but about getting one of them out of the picture.

“Was Barney in on it with you?” Steve asks, but Ronin just stares at them, not a sound making it out of him. He turns the pommel of the katana in his hand, and watches Steve closely.

Nothing moves for a couple of seconds. Sam makes his way out of there, Wanda thrown over his shoulders. Ronin doesn't even move when Sam makes it out of the picture, and when James makes it to Steve’s side, he lifts his sword, pointing it at the Captain. It's an ominous gesture, and James hates it.

“You want a dead Avenger?” Steve asks, as the War Machine opens the face plate, revealing James underneath. He’s glistening with sweat, and seems to be more worried than anything else. “I'm the First Avenger,” Steve continues, as Ronin turns slightly, to mimic Steve’s movements. “Always have been. You want a dead Avenger on your kill list, I'm the one to go after.”

It's not necessarily the best stalling technique he's ever tried, but there's something more to it. Steve flicks his finger, and the War Machine armor loads a shot at Ronin, who barely manages to avoid it, rolling onto the side as the blast darkens the ground where he stood merely a few seconds before. It was never about killing him, just incapacitating him.

As Ronin gathers himself, Steve and James move back, taking steps up the hall. Ronin pushes himself to a standing position again, and looks over his shoulder, then to the side, as a hushed sound suddenly intrudes on their conversation, noticing the outline of a door on the wall, all but a little too late to do anything about it.

“Looking for someone?”

A dark clad figure suddenly makes it out of the side door, which blasted open suddenly, and her widow’s bite connects with Ronin’s side. As the katana falls out of his hand and he makes it to the side, the electricity still flowing through him, she hits him in the head with her knee, and the sound of the contact makes James frown.

“Ouch,” he says, as Steve pushes him back.

“Go check up on Wanda,” Steve tells James, as War Machine turns around and follows the same way Sam went barely minutes ago. “We’ll take care of him,” he then yells, as Ronin makes it back up to his feet, dodging Natasha’s flying foot, throwing himself forward and rolling to the side.

She's picked up his katana, carrying it in her hand, but her stance is off. She was trained in fencing, back in the Red Room and the KGB, but not in this. The balance of the sword is off, it's too light for her taste. Ronin looks at her, as she watches the sword.

Steve makes it up next to her, placing himself to her right. Ronin flicks his wrist, and a smaller knife appears from a fold in his clothing. It's horrible, not to know what kind of expression he's wearing right now. It's horrible, because Steve doesn't know if he's in pain, enjoying it, or just taking it in as another job he's been asked to see through.

“What do you want?” Natasha asks Ronin, as he takes a step to the side, seemingly looking over their shoulders. No answer. He's never answered any of their questions, why would he start now?

“You’re not working for the Circus of Crime because you have any personal reason to do it,” Steve says, putting his shield onto his back. “Why are you after us? What did any of us ever do to you?”

Ronin flicks his other wrist, and a similar knife appears in that hand too. “Vengeance,” he says, pointing at Natasha. It's the first time in a long, long time, that Ronin has said anything, and Steve wants to remember the voice, the accent, and he feels that he knows the voice. Can it be someone close to him? He gets flashbacks of Bucky’s voice. But this is not it. This is something else.

Before they know it, Ronin is leaping at them, both knives turned towards them, and as metal clashes against metal, Natasha using the katana to defend herself, Steve knocks the edge of the shield into Ronin’s ribs. There's a loud exhale, as Ronin turns around, locking the katana with the edge of one sword and cutting at Steve’s direction with the other one.

Natasha pulls the sword back, breaking their close contact fight, and Ronin takes the opportunity to land a hit to her body, cutting one of her bites off her wrist. It falls to the floor in a crackle of electricity, before dying out.

“Ow, you asshole,” she growls, as she tries to land another hit, allowing Ronin to catch her leg. Steve has gotten a hit to his face too, with the pommel of the sword, and as Ronin grips the blade of the katana with his gloved hand and pulls again, Steve gets a flashback to where this same situation happened, in Canada.

He moves to the side, as Natasha chooses to let go. As soon as the blade is free from Natasha's control, Ronin uses it effectively - he turns it around, forcing them back from him, creating a safe space around him, giving him a newfound freedom of movement they'd taken from him with close combat.

They stand there for a couple of seconds, Ronin taking deep breaths, Steve feeling blood running down from his eyebrow where the pommel of one of the smaller knives had hit him, Natasha heaving for air.

And then, Ronin makes it to the door from where Natasha had come from, turning his back on both of them, forcing them to follow behind. He makes his way all the way there, before he turns again, sees Natasha leaping at him, her signature move coming right at him, and as he bends backwards to avoid her grip, he throws a knife onto the controls to the door, which closes shut behind her.

She falls flat and heavy onto the floor, and as he rolls to the floor he lifts his sword and places the edge of it on her throat. They hear Steve knocking and hammering on the door, calling for Natasha. His fists make indents on the metallic doors, but there's nothing to it, this door had been made to keep people out if the controls were activated.

But there’s nothing to do, and the next thing Steve hears is Natasha screaming like he's never heard her scream before.

* * *

The scream echoes through the corridors, and almost at the same time, Wanda wakes with a start.

Sam moves quickly, cupping her head with his, making sure she won't hurt herself, but she lashes out at him with her magic and he feels himself pushed back from her. Her eyes are glowing red, and during a couple of seconds, not even James tries to do anything.

She sits there, wondering, listening, and as the hairs on Sam's arm rise at her sight, he hears the scream in his head again. But it's only in his head, not real.

Is Wanda doing this?

“Wanda!” he calls, but she forces his mouth shut with her glowing fingers, and he takes a deep breath through his nose as panic starts going through him, fueled by adrenaline. The War Machine armor closes as James prepares for a fight, but as soon as he takes up an offensive pose, Wanda seemingly relaxes again, falling back to a lying position.

Sam, freed of her control, moves to her again and opens one of her eyelids, checking her pupils. They're dilated, but she seems to be fine otherwise.

“The Spirit of Vengeance,” she mutters, as she frowns, and Sam looks up from her. He doesn't have to say anything to James, he knows.

* * *

“Open the door,” Steve is saying, as James reaches him. There's blood on the floor from where Ronin had bled earlier, and one of Natasha's bites lies on the floor, some of her blood smudged on the blue lights.

James makes it to Steve’s side. “What happened? We heard Natasha scream.”

Looking up at him, Steve shakes his head. “He locked himself up with her, in the room she was waiting in. I don't know, I haven't heard anything since.”

There's panic in Steve’s voice, and James turns one of the weapons on the armor at the door. “Want me to blow it up?” he asks.

“No, the recoil might kill them both if they're not dead already.”

Steve’s fingers are bleeding, and James notices the dents on the wall. “Dude,  your knuckles,” he starts, but Steve just shakes his head.

“We gotta get them to open the door,” he says, doesn't care about the blood on his fingers.

James shakes his head. “You're not going to punch your way through to them, lemme,” he continues, before aiming one of the short laser beams on his shoulder at the door.

Steve moves back, secures the shield on his back again, opening and closing his fists as the blood cracks on his fingers, and watches as the War Machine cuts a hole in the door big enough for them to climb through.

The smell of burnt metal and plastic cover up the rusty scent of blood, and as James finishes the round, Steve kicks it in, and the door flies back, in a whine of metal against metal.

He ducks into the room, ready to face whatever happened, but stops dead in his tracks as he realizes what's before him. James bumps into him, not expecting Steve to have stopped like that. “Dude!” he says, before he looks over Steve’s shoulders and realizes that, fuck, they're in deep shit.

* * *

“Let me explain-”

Steve doesn't give him any time to say anything more than that, he simply moves forward and throws a punch at his temple. The katana falls to the floor, and as he prepares for another punch, Natasha suddenly catches his wrist and stops him mid flight.

“Steve, let him explain,” she growls, as James looks back and forth between the two of them.

“But you screamed? He- what? Excuse me, what's going on?” James finally says, and when Steve opens his fist and Natasha lets go of it, Clint takes a deep deep breath before letting it out.

Natasha looks safe, safe for the little cuts on her body. Clint has an emerging black eye, probably by one of the kicks he suffered a couple of minutes ago.

“Best we find Wanda and Sam too,” Clint exclaims, as he bends forward to pick up the black mask, sheathing the katana on his back in the same motion. He exits the room without a word, Natasha motioning with her head for Steve and James to follow him out. She looks around her in the room, making sure they're not forgetting anything, and follows behind.

This is going to be a shit storm she does not want to miss, but a necessary one nonetheless. It was the only way for this to work, even if it had meant lying to everybody, including Wanda and Steve.

* * *

Wanda’s head jerks up before Sam sees what's coming, but her motion isn't distressed or scared. She looks somber, dark. And is that- anger? Too?

He turns to the side, and when he sees Steve, James and Natasha flanking- Clint? In the Ronin suit, his eyebrows rise as far as they can go on his forehead. “Okay, what the actual hell is going on?” he questions, and James nods.

“My words exactly,” War Machine replies, and Clint puts down the mask on the table in front of Wanda. They both lock eyes for a couple of seconds, and when she nods, Sam realizes she just looked into Clint's head. What she saw must have made sense to her, because she relaxes against the back of the chair as Clint waits for them all to gather around the table.

Sam can't help but look at him, notice the way the suit fits him perfectly. It's not a big thing, but there's no way that Clint stole it for the sake of one stint, and the thought that Clint might have been wearing it all this time makes itself into his mind. But then, he remembers that Clint too, was stabbed by Ronin. Who then?

Clint sighs, before he speaks. “I'm sorry I lied to all of you,” he starts, and James is about to come with a comment, but Clint's gaze shuts him up. “It had to be this way. It's all been going on for a while now, and getting you guys involved when Petit went missing was the only way that we could get in under the Circus of Crime’s skin and take them down.” Pause.

“I got word back in November that Tiboldt and Duquesne were looking to set up a plan to kill me or kill my family, as part of a revenge scheme they've had going on and planning ever since me and Laura left them behind. Buck, Chisholm that is, received a visit by the two of them in November, asking him if he wanted to join them in their venture against me.”

Clint has pulled off the gloves while he's been speaking, and he looks down at his fingers. The calluses are still there, Sam sees, but there's other things as well. The black gloves, outlined by yellow silk look flat and void on the table.

“Chisholm spoke to Barney, who came to me with this. They'd set up the team, same team as before with the Clown, Strongman, Princess Python and the others, to come at me. After Natasha leaked SHIELD’s file on the Internet, they learned what I'd been up to.” He shrugs, as he looks over at Natasha. It's not a resentful look, just a knowing look. “I'd been keeping low profile ever since I joined SHIELD, nobody exactly knew where I'd gone, but suddenly, there was an Avenger with a bow and arrow, after New York, and the leaked files just confirmed it for them. So, they'd decided to go after me. I talked to Natasha and Nick about it,” he says, as he motions to the mask on the table.

“I had to deal with it myself, but that meant that none of you could know what I was doing.” Sigh. “None of you had to be in on the plan, except the bare minimum. The Circus of Crime had found out that Petit was with the DGSE, and with MI-6 blowing up the home of Spectre in November too, they had to move soon. Especially since Sciarra had been assigned to help them get a hit on me,” he mutters, as he shakes his head. “Good thing MI-6 took care of him for me, then I didn't have to take care of that mess,” he chuckles.

“But, as I said, I had to go in and take care of them myself. To do that, I needed some way of getting back into the world of performance and circus, and nobody knows that world as I do.” He pauses, looks at Steve who nods. It had been Steve’s point to try and get Clint in on the case to help them from the beginning, and in retrospect, it made sense that Clint was already aware of everything.

“Some of you may know this, but before I joined SHIELD and right after, I met with a girl called Maya Lopez. She’s from Hell’s Kitchen, a lovely girl. She’d been fighting her own battles, and there were some things that SHIELD needed me to take care of. It’s through her that I got this,” he motions to his suit, the black and yellow stripes on his body, so different from his usual Avenger and SHIELD issued uniform, this one used for other purposes, “She gave me Ronin. She’d gotten it from someone, who told her to use it when time called for it.”

He pauses, as he looks at all of them. “Ronin was for revenge and anger, all those things that SHIELD couldn’t have allowed. I used it twice right after Nick and Peggy took me in, but I shoved the suit far away in the farm when I was done with it.” He smiles slightly, probably thinking back to the memory.

“Still doesn’t explain how you tricked the Circus of Crime into taking Ronin under their wing,” Sam interjects, and Clint closes his eyes for a while, as he thinks back to the best way of going about it.

It takes a couple of seconds, but when he opens his eyes again, there’s a look of sadness and regret in them. “I went in and told them about all the things that we’ve done. Destroyed lives, in Sokovia, with the Mandarin, using Stark’s past as a weapon’s dealer. I dug up all the secrets I could and made files on each of you, emphasizing on myself to them.” He takes a deep intake of air before he shakes his head, apologetic. “There’s so much doubt in my mind about what’s right and what’s wrong that I couldn’t help it. After a while, even Laura had to remind me that what I did while under Loki’s control wasn’t really my fault. But I used that as a vantage point to get into their circles, and it worked.”

He smirks, then. “Barney helped a bit too, he’s still in contact with them every now and then.”

There’s a longer pause now, where everyone seems to be taking in the information and the reveal. If Clint is Ronin, then what was this entire chase with Petit, with all the fights, the blood shed?

Wanda raises her head. “You were stabbed. By Ronin.”

“I was there, you almost died,” Steve says then, and Clint looks up at him, eyebrows raised. The black eye that was on the verge of appearing earlier is making its way onto his face, and Natasha knows that the bruise will last for several weeks. There’ll be questions, inevitably, but he’ll dodge them as he always does.

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” Clint replies, but he knows that there are still unanswered questions, so he picks up where he left off earlier. “Nick and Natasha knew, from the beginning. If I got found out by Maynard and Jacques, they’d have to come in and get me out. It was a dangerous double foul I played, but it was worth it, until now. They told me to come here today and kill any of you, it didn’t matter if Clint wasn’t there, were their words.”

He brushes his temple with his palm, removing a droplet of sweat making its way down his face. He smudges some blood in the same motion, but Natasha can’t make out from where he’s bleeding, the black clothing keeps it hidden. “They like to talk, they always do. Maynard hates me, he hates Laura and he hates everything that I’ve ever touched. I suppose Natasha told you guys, when Jacques - Duquesne, that is - ran after I found him stealing from Carson, it disrupted a monetary balance in the circus. It put everything out of balance, with even Buck changing his mind and realizing that the theft and the crime might not be the best way to go about it. It took a long time for him to change, even an arrow to my shoulder before he changed his mind, but that was the beginning of the end for Maynard.

I mean, even Eliot left the Circus of Crime to go about and be a bounty hunter, finding better paid jobs than working as a clown in a circus. Zelda left at some point too. They’re still getting over it, as the debt they had at that point in time was to Crime syndicates - they’re always all connected.” Clint pulls up the mask from the table and rolls it around his fingers, delicately. “Maynard got his hand very dirty, playing in all those crime underworlds, and it got him in trouble when I screwed him over, taking Laura from him and running.”

Steve looks at Wanda, and the exchanged glance makes Clint nervous. “You stabbed me, and Natasha. You’ve been playing us all.” Steve is disappointed, Natasha can hear it in his voice. “I hate it when my teammates don’t tell me things,” he says, before moving on. “Why reveal yourself now and not keep it a secret?” There’s some disdain. Natasha knows that Steve will understand, given time, but the wound is still too recent. They’re still bleeding, still recovering from a fight, all of them.

“Because I can’t finish this job alone,” Clint finally admits. “And because I’m too darn terrified that they’ll figure it out after today. We need to get them before they run, and I can’t do that alone. Barney’s gone to find Zelda, who agreed to work with him - she has no idea it’s me posing as Ronin - but I can’t take them down alone.”

Sam clears his throat, as Wanda pushes herself up from her seated position. She’s holding her head, her fingers on her chin as she looks over at Clint. There’s a certain look in her eyes, and Clint knows that she understands. She’d do anything to protect her own family too, but this? Lying to them, injuring them, sending them to the hospital, all for the sake of safety? It’s a bit hard to stomach.

Natasha looks at Sam before he speaks. “You talking about crime syndicates,” Sam starts, “who we talking about?”

Clint looks up from the mask and frowns, thoughtful. “I know Maynard’s been in on it with Quantum, which was an underling of Spectre. He worked with Dominic Greene, investing money and lending from him, but when Greene died, Spectre shut that down. Too risky, they said. He’s also been known to be in the pockets of the Syndicate itself, which I’ve dealt with along with the IMF, and he’s been working with HYDRA too.” He pauses, at Sam’s raised eyebrows when he mentioned the IMF.

“Don’t ask,” he simply says, and Sam accepts that.

Natasha turns to face Clint, as James walks up to Clint, his faceplate down again. “How do we know you’re not double playing us now?” he asks, and Natasha huffs.

“Uh,” Clint manages, but is cut off by Steve who raises his hand, silencing them all.

“You did this because you didn’t have any other choice,” Steve says, Clint nodding in response to it. “I can’t forgive you for what you did to me, to Sam, to Natasha and to Wanda as Ronin, but we’re going to help you take them down. As long as they’re a threat to you and your family, they’re a threat to us. You just need to share everything with us. All you know, all you think you know, all the details and everyone involved. I want to know who you worked with and why, how much Barney was involved, and what deals you made as Ronin.”

Clint’s eyes go stern, and he can’t help but feel trapped - Natasha knows the look on his face. It’s the one he gets when he’s assigned missions he doesn’t like, and he can’t get out of them. This isn’t a SHIELD mission though, it’s an Avengers mission. He can’t bail out of it. Not now. Not with so many different wheels turning.

“Alright,” he finally lets out, as a sigh and a moan. Wanda moves to the side, standing up next to Clint. She looks at Steve.

When Steve nods at her, she raises her hand, and when Clint nods too, they shine red. Natasha watches as the red glow enters Clint’s eyes, and spread through his mind. She remembers Wanda’s mind, and the way she forced herself to look at Natasha’s own fears. She can see on Clint that he doesn’t like it, having someone else in his brain. He never mentions Loki anymore, but she knows it’s still a deep cut that’s still healing. Wanda’s fingers dance in front of his face as he closes his eyes, frowning in pain at the things she’s forcing him to relive. There is no hiding anymore.

No electronic impulse to keep her out of his head, and she knows that if it becomes too much, he’ll stop her. But he doesn’t. She notices that his hands close more firmly on the mask he’s been holding for some minutes, but when even Wanda’s hands start shaking, she walks up to them, pulling Wanda’s head down.

They both snap out of it, and Sam coos at them both. “You guys need to chill a little bit with the intensity,” he says, and Steve gives him the look.

“Just saying,” he justifies himself with and James shakes his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo?
> 
> Tell me all. Tell me what your thoughts were? Did I do a good enough job to impress you guys, and are you excited for the rest? And, now that the team knows, how do you think it's going to change the game? Who do you think will figure out that Barney is in on everything Clint has done so far? And who do you think they can trust?
> 
> (Do you think Clint will tell them all that he knows or will he keep secrets too?)
> 
> TELL ME ALL YOU THOUGHT!


	9. The Prestige - Phase 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronin is Clint. Clint is Ronin. There is no other way around, and there is nothing to do about it - other than face the consequences of the masquerade, and the rift that it'll have left within the New Avengers. What will happen now? Is Steve Rogers going to accept Clint's actions? Or will he ask for some sort of retaliation? And, what happens in the wide world that they need to be aware of? Is the threat they're facing now really the final threat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO SO SO SO sorry that it's taken me so long. I've been so busy, with Christmas and New Year's and all that, BUT IT'S HERE. FINALLY.
> 
> And I hope so much that I'm not going to let any of you guys down with this chapter, and that it might leave you screaming for more. Trust me, I've got plenty planned for you. I have Chapter 10, 11 and even 12 planned out, along with two post credits scenes, if you may call them like that. 
> 
> As far as this chapter goes, there aren't really any specific warnings, other than general ones. I really hope that you'll enjoy the read.

There's a certain animosity, and Wanda wouldn't blame anyone. She's been feeling it brewing for the better part of the hour, and the tension in the room is asking her twitch. She can feel them, arguing, as she tries to block out their conversations. 

Her head hurts, too. The hit that Barney landed on the side of her head still aches, and she can feel the drumming of her heart, as if it's strengthened tenfold. Every single heartbeat, she can feel it hammering against her skull, and she wonders if the violence had been truly necessary against her. 

What she'd seen in Clint's head was the only proof of the necessity. She'd seen the worry, the arguments that Clint had had with Laura about this - they'd spent hours arguing, Laura walking out on Clint at one point, leaving him with Nathaniel screaming for his mother, puffy eyed and his cheeks wet with tears, as she decided she needed time to deal with it all. 

The argument had been one of those things that she wishes now she could unsee. Clint and Laura were a constant, something that never changed. They would always love each other, she didn't doubt it for one single second, but she remembers the fights that her own parents had and her heart aches. Seeing the fight from Clint's perspective had made her stomach churn, butterflies spreading as she tried to retract herself. 

Laura had come back, some hours later, Wanda had seen, apologizing. If Clint was a short fuse every now and then, Laura could be the same too. No wonder they'd chosen each other. (She made a mental note to never piss off Laura enough to see her walk out of the house to let off some steam like she had done). 

Wanda can feel the same anger and frustration brewing in the room next to where she is sitting. Clint has gone again, putting on the Ronin mask and going back with Natasha's blood on his blade. They hadn't decided what would be best, but he had told them he needed to leave, to greet the Ringmaster and the Swordsman again to present proof of the attack and the results thereof. 

Which had left Steve in a foul mood, arguing with Natasha. Loudly. 

Steve had dismissed James and Sam and Wanda from the tactical room to discuss this with Natasha on his own, and while James had gone back to check up on Tony (who had recently been in touch with General Thunderbolt Ross about the political and military consequences of the Battle of Sokovia),  Sam had gone out to scout the New Avengers facility. After the intrusion of the so called Ant-Man, that Natasha had recognized from old SHIELD files she'd memorized, Sam had taken it personally to make sure it wouldn't happen again. 

As for her? Well, she had chosen to seat herself down in one of the wooden chairs in one of the recreational areas of the facility. She misses Vision, she realizes after a while. He's been gone for weeks, accompanying Thor to the other side of a realm to look for the Power Stone and try and fetch it back. (Something with a Titan called Thanos, but Wanda still hasn't learned everything. She still finds it hard to imagine that there are other realms,  other creatures than humans… But then again, her powers came from a scepter brought to this earth by a demigod.) 

She can hear Natasha's voice. She is unable to make out what's being said, but she can feel the tone. It's ice, protective of Clint, she knows. Steve is pissed. That's the only word she can find for it. He is absolutely pissed at Natasha, Clint, Barney and Nick Fury for having hidden this thing from them all, and even though he understands the necessity, he's still pissed that Clint had to do all he did in order to get the mission fulfilled. 

Which isn't even the case. 

Wanda leans her head back against the chair, and closes her eyes. She leaves her mind open, trying to filter through what's being said. The raised voices, the arguing, she knows it's just the beginning of new partnerships and that there's a test of Steve’s faith in his teammates. 

“Steve, we've already covered this. There would be no way for Clint to have faked all the fights if we had been in on it and make the lasting impression for the circus of Crime that Ronin was actually going to go for us!” she hears Natasha, as silence spreads around her, background noise filtering out from her mind. There's only Natasha and Steve now. 

Steve snorts, frustrated. “He should have told us long ago. Or told one of the others, don't you think it's what teammates should do?”

“When it's best that the least people know, no. SHIELD taught us never to compromise the mission even if it meant hurting other people-”

“This isn't SHIELD, Natasha!” Steve cuts her off and Wanda opens her eyes again. She looks straight ahead as the voices fade again, and she shakes her head. 

Getting up again, she wanders out from the corridor and outside, where the cold bites her fingers. Her mind counters nature and her hands glow red. The sound of Sam’s wings above her reach her before he does, and she looks up to see him land next to her. 

“Are they still arguing?” he asks, and she nods. Sam sighs. “Steve hates secrets,” Sam begins, as he pulls off the protective goggles, massaging his temples where the elastic straps have made a mark on his skin. “SHIELD had too many secrets, Fury has too many secrets. And now, knowing all of this…” He vaguely gestures to the empty parking lot in front of them, but Wanda knows that this isn't what he means. 

“I looked in Clint's head, it was necessary.” 

Sam meets her gaze, and she knows that he knows. They all knew that it was way too dangerous to let them in on the secret, but she also knows that Sam felt hurt by Clint and Barney’s secrecy too. 

“I think Clint and Steve need to talk about this, rather than him chewing his way through Natasha all night,” Sam finally deadpans, as he retracts his wings into the apparatus on his back, and clicks the mechanisms to unstrap them from his shoulders. Wanda watches him work with precision, his fingers and arms knowing when to move and when to let the weight off his shoulders and onto his elbows. She knows that the wings are heavier than they look, and yet, she has never seen Sam whine or complain about them. 

She nods, when he's done. “I will talk to him and I will ask him to come in,” she says, Sam giving her a smile to show that he appreciates her effort and agrees with her. And with that, he moves back inside, heading to the vault where he keeps his wings secure at all times. 

She stays outside for a while, enjoying the silence and the calm. Around her, she can feel the creatures and the animals lurking in the darkness, seeking food and shelter and light, and she wonders if she should go back in. For a moment, she wants to stay out there, and just listen. But then she feels a tugging in her heart and she knows she has to go back inside. 

* * *

If it had been his choice, Steve would have done the same. He knows this, and he's been thinking about it every single day and night ever since Clint revealed himself as Ronin. It has bothered him, keeping him from sleeping, and he doesn't know why. 

His repeated arguments with Natasha and Nick, who agree with Clint's strategy haven't helped on his mood either.

They're all, minus James, looking at the security footage they've gathered thus far on Ronin. The seething frustration and anger pulsing through Steve’s veins makes everyone uncomfortable - and he truly knows better than to sulk, but he can't help it. He feels personally betrayed. 

Not only because they all have new wounds and scars, but because Clint didn't trust them with his secret. 

(He hadn't trusted him with his family until it had been necessary, back in the Ultron debacle, and Steve still felt that it had been a personal hit. He knew his teammates, he had made it his mission to know them after the fall of SHIELD, and suddenly, one of the people he thought he had figured out turned out to be a complete U-Turn of the image he had of him. In Steve’s mind, Clint was not a father nor a husband. He was an agent, a killer, and a master spy. He still remembers the planning and the masterful piloting skills that Clint had displayed several times, and he still has trouble realizing that Laura, Cooper, Lila and Nathaniel were Clint's family.)

“I still don't understand why we couldn't play along with it,” he mutters. They'd done this before, pretend and play along. Tony had told them that Jarvis was the one protecting the nuclear launch codes, but they had still acted like they didn't know, right up until Vision had locked Ultron out of the Internet. Containing a manmade virus with the power of the mind stone. 

Natasha purses her lips, keeping her tongue on her lower lip a little too long. That's when she's frustrated, he knows. “Because, we had to be perfect. And that meant that nobody had to know.” She's saying this through gritted teeth, and they've had this argument before. But Steve can't get himself to let it go. He just can't. He watches Sam who just shakes his head. 

“Can't say I'd have done it differently, Cap,” he says, and Steve sighs. He rubs the bridge of his nose as he ruffles a hand through his hair, annoyed and tired. 

He finally lets out a huff. “Then why did Barney leave with Python? What's his part in this grand plan?”

Natasha looks over at Wanda who is concentrating on looking at the table. “Maybe because there's still things we don't know about,” she mutters, and Wanda looks up. Steve turns his upper body at Wanda, rests his chin on his closed fist as he rests his elbow on the table, and watches the young girl. 

“What did you see in his head?” he asks. He's asked before, and she's answered, but he still feels that everyone is keeping their own secret. 

Wanda’s hands glow red. “I saw enough to know that this was the right thing.” She pauses, as she looks over at Sam who nods. “We had to, because there have been factors that made it so.”

Steve slams his hand on the table, angry now. “Stop saying that! Clint was alone, most of the times where he faced us! He could have said a word, he could have told us, instead of lying us straight in the face!”

The face of Alexander Pierce makes its way to the edge of Steve’s mind, just enough for Wanda to feel it, and she watches his face, coolly. “If you do not trust Clint, then fine. Don't. I do. I was in his head, and I trust Sam and Natasha know this was the right thing to do. Lying to us was the only way that this could work,” Wanda says, and Natasha looks at her. Wanda has never spoken up at Steve like that before. 

Steve’s teeth lock, and his jaw shuts tight as Wanda goes on. “Clint has more experience than all of us in the field, all of us except maybe Natasha. He knows what's best for him and his family. This was never about including us in on the plan, Captain, this was always about protecting what he holds closest to his heart. Do not forget it.”

Wanda glares at Steve who shuts his mouth again, having given up on replying to her. Steve hates this. It's not that he doesn't understand, he just hates it. Clint knows best - of course he does. But after all the lies that SHIELD, Fury, Pierce, Zola, Rumlow and all the others fed him? After all the lies that Tony Stark fed him about Ultron?

He is more than sick and tired of it. And, he's still looking for Bucky. All this running around playing catch with Ronin has deviated his plans for finding the Winter Soldier, but he will never admit it to the others. He bites his tongue and watches as Natasha gets up in silence, and leaves the room in a rush. 

* * *

“What did he say?”

He looks down at his hands. He hasn’t had the time nor the opportunity to tell Laura just how much happened between now and the last time they spoke. She’s on the screen opposite him, sitting with Nathaniel in her lap. She looks better than she has in weeks, and Clint couldn’t help the smile which had spread on his face when she had appeared on his device.

“He isn’t happy.” He points to the black eye that he currently carries and Laura bites her lower lip as she readjusts Nathaniel on her lap. He’s trying to catch the cable which is currently charging the iPad with which she’s communicating with him, and Clint sighs. He’s holding the Ronin mask in his fingers, hasn’t taken the gloves off.

Laura, however, shakes her head. “What did you expect?” 

She always seems to know. She always seems to know how things are going to end, and she always knows what sort of trouble he’s getting in before he gets into it. He chuckles at her comment, before he rubs the black eye. It’s itchy now, even though it hurts when he presses against the darkened area around his eye.

He clears his throat before he speaks again. “Maynard and Jacques are angry with Ronin,” he diverts, placing himself in the center of attention rather than Steve. The hit that he’d taken to the face still stung, and even though Natasha had told him about Steve’s trust issues and violent outbursts, he still hadn’t expected a fist to his face. But, he goes on. “He didn’t bring back a dead avenger, and they’re going to move on with the plan.” He motions to the side, putting down the mask on the table the tablet rests on.

His fingers are moist inside the black gloves, and he can feel the fabric on his skin. The gloves are some of the most comfortable ones he’s even worn, but he’s sweating. It’s too hot to be wearing this many layers, but he can’t afford to waste the time of taking any more of the clothing off. He’s outbound within hours, and it would waste too much precious time. 

“Barney told me that Zelda’s going to be a big part of it,” Laura says, and Clint nods again. He speaks as Laura rubs Nathaniel’s back, a gleeful look on his son’s face, oblivious to the conversation happening right above him.

“They’re going to trap one of us with one of her snakes,” Clint says in a sigh, rubbing his face again. He’s so tired, oh God, he’s so exhausted. This double play has been exhausting, and with Barney off lord knows where, probably playing along with Zelda, it’s best to not know. He knows that he’s not welcome at the base either, he can feel Wanda’s mind in his head still. She’d gone through his mind like a tornado, pulling up old memories and new fears, making her way in his head like Loki had done, looking for information good enough to store away.

The mind stone set off Clint’s heart rate, and if this had been any closer in time to New York, he’d be on the floor with a panic attack if he hadn’t learnt to count numbers and focus on his breathing like he did now. “They’re going to kill someone that way, to get to me. I can’t get in between the snake and whoever they decide to go with,” he mutters, slowly, quietly, and Laura moves forward, picking up the tablet, and Nathaniel reaches up for the dangling cable. 

“Hey, Clint, look at me,” she says, and he does. He looks up from his hands, which he can’t seem to see free from friendly blood. He looks at her, and he sees her. Even though her eyes are distorted and pixelized, he sees her, and knows that she will always be there. This is who he fights for. This is why he’s done all this. If they were to kill her, or his children - Clint would kill them all. And then he’d probably do worse than that, turn into the villain everyone is expecting him to become.

(He remembers overhearing Fury and Hill talking about him, as they debriefed with the psychiatrist he’d talked to. He remembers overhearing Laura and Natasha talking in the livingroom as they thought he was asleep. He remembers Peggy mentioning the rage in his chest and how it could consume him from within if anything were to snap. Peggy had told him that Loki had probably seen what she saw: an angry young boy from the midwest, who’d gone through hell and was on the verge of falling right back into the dust, if given the opportunity).

(He still remembers, and he can’t forget it.)

“You can’t save the entire world,” she says, and Clint feels his heart shatter. All his life he’s been trying to fight and to save others, so that he could salvage himself in some sort of twisted way. He’d seen Laura in the Circus of Crime, married her because she was all he had ever wanted. He’d given himself to SHIELD, abandoning her for months at a time for the sake of a mission. He’d sacrificed time and blood and tears for the sake of building something better, and then it had all crumbled when SHIELD had collapsed, like an iron giant taking its last steps and falling to the ground.

He’d worked so hard for SHIELD. Natasha had embraced SHIELD when she’d been given the choice. Clint had helped mold modern day SHIELD. 

“You can’t save everyone, nor make sure everyone stays friends forever. That’s not how it works,” Laura continues, “Just look at you and your brother. You both hate and love each other, and yet, you still figure it out. Yeah, sure, one day I’m going to throw him out of the house, but he’s still family and he’s still one of the only people who understands.” She pauses, for emphasis, and Clint looks at her again, and sees that she too, has gotten old. There are wrinkles he hasn’t noticed, because her face is so beautiful to him, every single day, and he falls in love with her every time he sees her again.

There are probably white hairs that she’s stopped dyeing too. There’s the look in her eyes, telling him that being semi-retired was the best thing she’s had for a long time. He sighs as she speaks again, and he feels like he wants to cry.

Laura finally smiles again. “Talk to Steve. Figure this out, Clint. You’ve got this. You’re almost done. Nick says that they’re going to be ready to take Maynard and Jacques in, and even Buck is getting tingly at the thought of seeing these two idiots in a court of law,” she says, and Clint almost laughs.

The idea of Maynard Tiboldt, the Ringmaster himself, and Jacques Duquesne, the Swordsman, faced with the very idea of the law, an appointed lawyer and dates and witnesses… Well, he would love to see that. Although, he doubts that they’d let the United States government take care of it - with what was brewing and General Thunderbolt Ross himself having become the Secretary of State and his idea that the world needs to have some form of control over them. (Tony Stark has been running his own campaign in the media to try and defuse this time bomb, but if Clint Barton suddenly stands as a witness in a trial against two men he’s been known to cooperate with, there’s no way this wouldn’t be taken as an offense and strengthen Ross’ public image).

No, Clint needs for this to stay off the media.

It’s best this way.

He smiles at Laura. “How come you always know how to make things alright?” he asks, and she laughs. Nathaniel makes a whooping sound at that, and she chuckles.

“You’re my husband, that’s why. Now go apologize to the angry super-soldier,” she says, kissing her fingers and pressing them to the screen before she cuts the connection. 

Well, that’s easier said than done, Clint thinks. Talk to Steve Rogers? He scratches his black eye again and lets out a long, loud sigh. He doesn’t want to, but he’ll need to. He pulls on the mask, slowly, making sure that it doesn’t hurt his eye again, and readjusts the fabric against his skin. As soon as it’s settled in its form over his ears and his hair, and his eyes, he feels his heartbeat accelerate.

He leaves, soundlessly, and jumps out the window.

* * *

“You're going to want to come with me.” 

Natasha has just waltzed into Wanda’s room. Looking up from the laptop screen that she's been glued to ever since Clint had left them, Wanda stares at Natasha. She can feel the distress oozing out of Natasha's mind, and the frown that makes its way to her face betrays her worry. 

“Why?”

“Clint's back, and Steve is pissed.” Natasha pauses, as she looks back, over her shoulder and nods to someone. Wanda can feel that it's Sam, and that he's equally worried. “Trust me Wanda, this is not the place you want to be right now.”

She doesn't want to leave. Wanda wants to stay, to help, use the powers to get them to act like adults. But, the look on Natasha's face leaves absolutely no place nor time for arguing. Natasha speaks again. “Sam and I are going out. You should come. It's for your own good,” she finishes, and Wanda finally nods. 

Her mind reaches out to the far ends of the corridors, and in doing so, she can feel the sweet hum of Clint's mind. There's distress there, and as the feeling of his mind changes slightly, she realizes that he's responded to her touch. Clint is letting her know he's got this by changing his thoughts, because he felt her in his head. Natasha furrows her brow, and Wanda nods. 

“I will go,” she nods again, and Sam appears behind Natasha. She can feel Clint, and she can feel Steve. They're not face to face yet, but she can sense Steve’s anger. It's such a deep anger, like she hasn't felt before. She's heard of how violent Steve can get when something tips him off. Sensed it, in his head, as she delved into his memories in the search for Bucky, that one time. 

She shuts the laptop with her powers, the device clicking shut as she grabs the black jacket that was once Natasha’s. Pulling it on as she exits her room, she follows Sam who's leading the way. They're all dressed in casual clothes, so they're probably going to go out. She can feel other people, still in the vicinity, but she can sense that they don't know what's about to go down. So she asks. “Why aren't we stopping them?”

“Because this is something Steve and Clint have to settle themselves,” Sam replies, looking above his shoulder at her. She doesn't understand, but there has to be something she's missing. Thinking back to what she's seen of Clint's mind, everything he has done this far makes sense to her. It's Steve’s reaction to the secrecy that she doesn't get. Why is he so angry? 

As they exit the corridor and all settle into Natasha's small corvette, she wonders about what state they're going to find the headquarters in when they come back. 

As Natasha drives out of the parking lot, Wanda feels a weight on her chest. As if a knife had been pulled out of her heart, and she looks out of the window and back onto the facility. What are they up to? And will they kill each other, or reach some sort of understanding? 

* * *

It's quiet. A nervous quiet, that can be broken by just about anything. It's not that the quietness is uncomfortable, it's just… Clint knows that it's coming. He knows it, because Natasha knows Steve well enough to know. Besides. 

Natasha always knows everything. (She'd told him, in the beginning, back in November, when Barney had gotten word about the plot to kill Laura, the kids, or Clint, or all of them, that if he went through with his plan to foil Captain America himself, he'd have to face the wrath of the First Avenger at some point). 

(She had told him about that time she'd lied to him, on the Lemurian Star. Steve had grabbed her, shaken her. It had been the first time she'd seen him cross at her, and it had marked her. The second time Steve had showed aggression towards her was when she'd retrieved the drive in the hospital, and he'd shoved her against the wall in that cupboard. She'd told Clint, and Laura about it.)

(Sam too, of course, afterwards, and Sam had tried to help Steve deal with that deep rooted violence that he carried in his soul, but it hadn't been all that much of a success). 

He's heading to Steve’s office. The control room, where they've been monitoring all of the activity around the world that the New Avengers should be aware of. He knows he's heading straight into a fight, but he's responsible enough to accept the consequences of his actions. And, if he doesn't speak to Steve now, then the consequences would reach a whole other level. A whole other level that Clint isn't sure he can manage. 

So, he walks up, in full Ronin gear, and opens the door with a slam. Steve turns around and looks at Clint like he's just seen a ghost. 

“Barton,” is the way he greets him, and Clint has to bite his teeth together to not answer in the same almost mocking tone Steve has just used. 

“Steve,” He says, and there's a gap before any of them speak. Clint throws the Ronin mask on the operations table in the middle of the room, and Steve looks from that to Clint again. “I have an excuse and an explanation for you,” He starts, but Steve shakes his head, so Clint stops in his sentence. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Clint frowns. “I asked you, what's wrong?”

Steve walks up to the table, picks up the mask and throws it back at Clint. It's not a friendly throw, it's thrown like it belongs in the trash. Too fast, too hard. Clint catches it anyway, and holds it in his free hand as he watches Steve turn his back on him. 

“Steve-”

“Get out, Barton,” Steve snarls, and Clint puts down the mask on one of the drawer units on the side. 

“No.”

There's no inflection in his voice. No anger, no frustration. Nothing. Steve turns around, and Clint can feel it coming. 

“I'm not leaving here until we've sorted this out,” He growls, and Steve’s eyebrows lift. 

“We? I didn't keep any secrets. I didn't stab my friends. I didn't do this, Hawkeye,” Steve bites back, and Clint can't help but feel the attack coming. The way Steve had spat the name Hawkeye just feels wrong, and it irks Clint enormously. 

“There's nothing more to it. You lied to me, you lied to your team. You betrayed our trust, from the very beginning,” Steve starts, but Clint takes a step forward, his arm extended to interrupt Steve, and that's when Steve straightens up. Clint's first thought is that he's never going to be a match for Steve if Steve decides to physically throw him out, but then he remembers that he's fought Steve as Ronin and won. Even as he was recovering from a stabbing to his side and an infected wound. So he doesn't back down. 

“I don't trust liars, and I really don't like when my teammates don't tell me things. Protecting your family, that I can understand, but lying? Setting up this plan, with Nick and Natasha as your allies? Bringing in Barney? Do you really think that we would be alright with all of this? This little game?” 

He pauses. 

“You've played and gambled with our lives, and wasted our time. I could have spent all these hours and efforts looking for the Winter Soldier, not looking after a threat that turns out to equal fucking nothing!” Steve finally yells, and Clint walks up to him. 

There's a second where time stands still, and their foreheads almost touch. This is a fight waiting to explode, and if it were up to Clint, he'd punch Steve as it was. But the black eye that he's sporting right now is enough memory to know that Steve already has physically punished him for his lies and his plotting. This is just another excuse. 

“You've never been closer to finding the Winter Soldier, not even with all the time you spent looking for Ronin and the Circus of Crim-”

He doesn't finish. He doesn't finish because Steve’s has just pushed him back with all his strength, and he has to catch his balance. “Don't you dare,” Steve starts, but Clint walks straight back up into Steve’s personal space and interrupts him by pushing back. 

“Shut up, and listen to me. I never did this to hurt you, I never did this because I enjoyed it,” He snarls, growling, knowing it'll take that to get Steve to listen. “I did this for my kids, Cap.”

He pauses, before he moves slightly back, giving Steve space to breathe. “You think that because I betrayed your trust and played a double bluff on all of you, I did it because I could?”

He points at the mask that he’s put down on the drawer section next to him. “That thing right there? That’s protection. It’s anger, revenge and agony.” He pauses, before he unclenches his fist, feeling the rage seething through his mind. He can feel all of this boiled down anger pulsing through his veins, and he knows that it’s just a matter of seconds before they both explode.

So, when Steve turns around to show his back to him, again, turning his back on him, Clint grabs his forearm to stop him and-

The air blows out of him like a burst balloon, and Clint bends forward. The jab to his spleen hurts, as the pain reverberates through his entire body, collapsing him in on himself as his entire body yells out. 

“Don’t you fucking touch me, Barton,” Steve snarls, as Clint slowly forces himself to take deep breaths. He’s knelt, his knees giving out under him, one of his hands holding pressure where Steve’s fist had jabbed him in the gut, trying to steady the pulse raging through his body. He counts the breaths, as he moans, looking up at Steve who doesn’t look fased. He hadn’t held back. 

Steve hadn’t held back on the punch, and Clint’s pretty sure that he burst his spleen. He can’t feel it yet, but the pain echoes through him, bringing him back to a similar situation where a boot to the gut had nearly caused a splenic rupture. He doesn’t say anything, he just holds his breath as he tries to adjust his fingers.

“All my life I’ve tried to do what was right, what was good for us, for the government, for the people- then I figure out that HYDRA’s been playing me like a puppet all this time?” Steve is enraged. “You don’t think I’ve seen the little press dance that Stark and Ross are doing? That the Accords of Sokovia aren’t going to end up on my doorstep and that they’re going to try and get it all back? HYDRA’s gone, dead and done, but they’re going to try and take that from me. They’re going to go after me, after Bucky, and we didn’t deserve this.”

Clint knows that the anger isn’t directed at him, and while he takes the time to breathe, to steady his own heart, he can’t help but shake his head, trying to get Steve to just shut the fuck up for a moment. But Steve doesn’t.

“We didn’t deserve this!” Steve yells, finally, as Clint pushes himself back up to a standing position, holding himself steady against the rack of drawers where the Ronin mask lies. 

Clint watches him, quietly, before he speaks. “Neither did I,” he finally lets out, and Steve motions with his head, as if he wants to go and hit Clint again but is keeping himself from it. There’s nothing to do, Clint thinks. “I never asked for any of this to happen!” he finally snaps, pushing himself back up.

“D’you think I enjoyed it when I found out that SHIELD was rotten? I’ve been with SHIELD longer than you ever were, worked with your precious Peggy Carter-”

“Don’t you dare,” Steve howls, as another hit makes it way to Clint’s face. He goes down again, his frontal arch hurting, but not ruptured. He can feel the blood from his black eye hurting him from the second hit, but he just spits some blood out from where his teeth had clacked on his tongue.

“Don’t bring Peggy into this,” Steve says, pointing at him with his finger.

“I can’t work with people I can’t trust, Barton. After this mission, you’re done, we’re done, you’re out,” Steve motions for Clint to leave, but instead of turning his back, Clint gets up, and pushes himself directly at Steve, spearing him in the guts too, throwing them both to the floor, smashing one of the chairs in the process.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you!” Clint yells, as he hits Steve in the shoulder, where he knows Ronin had broken the clavicle, “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he yells again, as he pushes Steve’s fist back down, letting all his weight fall on him to keep him down, “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice finally reaching regular levels, and him moving back to allow Steve to get back up.

“But I would do it all again. This is bigger than me, it’s bigger than you. It’s bigger than all of us!” he says, as he points to something, everything, motioning a circle around them both. 

“It’s my family, Steve,” he finally says, his voice dying out. His hands are shaking, his lips is bloody, his eye is starting to swell, and the sheer will in his voice makes Steve stop for a second. 

“I can’t work with people I can’t trust, Barton,” Steve simply repeats.

Clint watches him, his breathing steadying as he applies pressure to his spleen again. He can feel the diziness start, and he probably needs to seek out medical. Or ask Natasha to patch him up, cut him up and patch him up. 

“Fine,” he finally says, grabbing the mask which is still resting on the drawer unit, and pulls it on. He doesn’t say a word or make a sound as the fabric settles against his eye. He doesn’t make a sound as he pulls on his gloves again. He doesn’t make a sound as he pushes open the door and leaves.

Leaving Steve on the floor, battered and bruised. Leaving the mess behind him. Answering Steve’s ultimatum by a common fuck you, ignoring the pull of the team and gravitating towards the pull of his family.

As Steve pushes himself up, feeling the pain from the spear subsiding, he hears a grin from one of the corners of the room. 

“Jeez, Rogers, didn’t think you were such a drama queen.”

And with that, Steve lets his head fall down to the floor again, closing his eyes. He can feel the nosebleed coming on from the impact, and he wants to just lie there. But, the sound of footsteps approach, and when he opens his eyes, he stares back into the eyes of the other Barton brother.

“Clint’s probably the guy you can trust most, out of all these so called teammates,” Barney says, as he extends his hand to help Steve get up. In that very second, Steve forgets that Barney knocked Wanda out cold the day that Clint revealed himself to be Ronin. He forgets, and he takes Barney’s hand to get back up to his feet.

“I trust Natasha more than I do him,” he mumbles, and Barney’s dry laugh almost gives an echo.

Barney shrugs. “Tell you what, if you ever change your mind about that, buy me a drink.” He folds his arms, as he watches Steve rub his hand on his nose, before tilting his head back and trying to get the blood to stop flowing.

“You know, everybody has something they value more than anything. You’ve got Bucky, the Winter Soldier. Now, don’t give me that look, I know a lot of things I shouldn’t know about. Clint has his family. He kept it secret from you, from everyone, because it’s what he’s got closest to his heart. He told me once, that when he was under Loki’s spell, Loki had asked him what the most important thing in his life was.”

Barney pauses, allowing Steve to recollect himself. “Clint told me that he remembers his brain shattering in the effort it took him to lie to Loki. He lied to Loki about his family and told Loki that Natasha was the most important thing in his life, because he didn’t want anyone near his kids. When that thing, the very thing that you would defend with your life, when that thing is in danger? There’s nothing you wouldn’t do to protect it.”

He huffs, as Steve wants to interrupt, motioning to him to shut up and suck it up. “You’ll fight the entire world to find your friend the Winter Soldier, because you listened when I told you to look to the North for him. Imagine Clint’s situation now. Imagine every person you’ve ever loved, all at risk, because of something you did over two decades ago. What would you do to protect them, Cap? How much of yourself and your friends would you give? How very far would you go?”

Barney puts down his hand and points his finger to some of the papers that Steve had been looking at. Some of them have the SHIELD logo on it.

“When Clint joined SHIELD, he was a little righteous punk. He was a little moron with a skillset. Fury saw that when he was sent to terminate him. Nick Fury was the one that was sent to kill the little prick who killed A list mafiosos and circus clowns. And Nick Fury was the one to say otherwise, and bring that punk back to none other than your dear Peggy Carter.” Barney puts up his finger when Steve wants to interrupt, doesn’t let him, goes on. “Nick Fury defended Clint to her, and she took a chance. She helped him, turned him into the Agent he became.”

He pauses, as he motions around him. “The modern day SHIELD that you and Natasha brought down? That’s got some of Clint’s soul in it, too. He was there, over twenty years ago, when Hank Pym quit the business. He was there, a rookie agent, sent in to try and get Pym back in the game. Peggy saw what Fury saw, and she saw that he could become great. The SHIELD that died back when you brought down the helicarriers into the Potomac, you brought a part of Clint down too. Those agents? All of them?” Barney throws down his hands on the table.

“Clint was a senior agent. He was one of those agents that everybody knew about and respected, and with Fury and Carter, he was one of the most respected SHIELD agents. You don’t know what he did when HYDRA revealed themselves, why he had to hide for so long.” Barney points to the door, as Steve finally levels his head, seemingly having subsided the nosebleed.

“Agents May, Fitz, Coulson, everybody that you knew at SHIELD, Clint knew too, and for much longer than you did. He trained with Rumlow, he sparred and shared missions with Rumlow. And Rumlow was a fucking piece of HYDRA trash. Have you ever given it any thought what that did to him? When he realized that the better part of his life, that what he spent over 20 years of his life doing, was rotten?”

Steve stays quiet at the question, and Barney nods.

“Of course you don’t. Because you don’t trust him. You once told Natasha that part of the reason you stayed with SHIELD was because Peggy Carter helped found it. Trust me on this, you should trust Clint more than any of your other teammates, because she trusted him for the last 25 years.”

Barney finally allows Steve to speak by staying quiet, and when he does, Steve gazes at the door that Clint just went through when he left.

“I didn’t realize- I didn’t- I never thought of it that way,” he finally says, and Barney nods, quietly. 

* * *

The sound of a televised jingle brings Natasha back to her thoughts. She’s been sitting on that couch for hours now. Sam’s been in the kitchen with Wanda, cleaning up their dinner. They’d agreed to go back to his place, his old place, to pass the time, waiting for Steve and Clint to make contact and tell them that they’d be alright.

She opens her eyes and looks at the television screen. It’s CNN, and the underline of the news that have just been announced reads ‘LIVE: Debate between Tony Stark, aka Iron Man and Christine Everheart.’

Natasha sighs loudly, as she pushes herself up from the couch and picks up the remote control to raise the volume of the television. The small icon appears on the screen and as she presses the up button, the sound increases as she orders it to. Sam and Wanda both look over their shoulders, as they hear the sound. 

Tony’s the one speaking. 

“I have always been and always will be fighting for the accountability of my team, Miss Everheart. When I came back from Gulmira, with a bleeding hole in my chest, I decided to stop all the weapons’ manufacturing in my name-”

“Yet, you built the most powerful weapon of all, the Iron Man suit. You said to the world that you’d privatized world peace when defending your usage of the suit to the Government-”

“I’d hardly say Senator Stern represented the Government, knowing that he’s been outed as a secret HYDRA member-” Tony interrupts.

Natasha throws a look at Sam who’s left the kitchen to come stand behind the couch and look at the screen. Tony looks tired, exhausted - she’s seen him like this too, when she was undercover for Fury and looking after Tony. When he was dying of the palladium in his chest. This doesn’t bode well. Especially since Christine Everheart is ruthless.

“You privatized world peace when you took over the Avengers from SHIELD, which your colleague, Natasha Romanoff, compromised when she exposed all of the past of this organization, Mister Stark,” Christine’s high pitched voice breaks and Natasha frowns. 

“She’s got a point,” Natasha mutters, as Wanda comes into the living room. The journalist on set seems to be trying to get the debate back on the rails.

“You’ve been funding the equipment behind all of the Avengers’ outings, and that equipment destroyed a big part of Johannesburg when you lost control of the Hulk-”

“In my defense, nobody actually lost control of the Hulk in that instance, he was pushed by magic to exaggerate his anger-” Tony defends, and sits forward in the chair he’s been appointed. Natasha arches her eyebrow as he goes on. “Doctor Banner and I developed Veronica, the tech I used to contain the Hulk, in this precise scenario. You can’t pretend to say that it didn’t work.” He pauses, for drama, and Christine Everheart’s eyebrow ascends to the roof.

“You saw what the Hulk and Abomination did to Harlem. What the Hulk did to Johannesburg was less consequent than tha-”

“How do you call millions in damage less consequent? And, your venture into South African airspace is also being seen as a breach of international laws. Being responsible for the Avengers, you are the one to take the hit for their liabilities, Mister Stark. I’m sure I’m not the only one here hoping that the measures that General Ross, newly appointed Secretary of State, will put an end to your superhero independence.” Christine Everheart puts down her pen, and Wanda comes to the living room to look at the screen.

“I do not like her,” Wanda says, and Natasha nods.

“She’s a good journalist though, all her points are valid. I just don’t like her as a person,” Natasha replies and Sam snorts.

“The US Government tried superheroes - it made Captain America, and then when it lost him, it made the Hulk, which spawned not only Abomination, whom I seem to remember is in cryo sleep in fucking Barrow, Alaska, it also spawned massive interference with things that are not from this world,” Tony says, and the journalist puts up her pen to interrupt him.

“Mister Stark, Miss Everheart, when Justin Hammer was asked to replicate your suits, was he not doing so for the US Government?”

“He did indeed,” Tony replies at the same time as Christine Everheart speaks again.

“He did so, but the positive outcome of that unsuccessful venture was that Mister Stark handed one of his suits to the US Military through Lieutenant James Rhodes.” Christine sits forward, as she gets the light. “During his time as War Machine, Lieutenant Rhodes has accomplished many and more great things for the US Military. That’s just proof enough that if the Avengers were to hand themselves over, they would do great things.”

Tony stops, stays quiet and looks at her, as he thinks. This gives Christine more time to speak, and Natasha closes her eyes, handing the remote control to Sam.

“When Captain America went to none other than Samuel Wilson to get his hands on the Falcon technology, it was just another proof that you’ve been trying to hijack the technology needed to keep world peace.”

“Let me rephrase you, Sam Wilson volunteered to help Steve-”

“But they broke out the last set of Falcon wings through inches of steel at Fort Meade, right? That’s technically theft and could, no, it should be, taken up in a court of law.”

The mute icon appears on the television, and Natasha breaks contact with the surface of it to look at Sam who has just put down the remote on the table behind him.

“They’re just big talk,” he says and Wanda shrugs. Natasha, however, keeps on looking at the screen. The text below the picture has changed, quoting theft and misappropriation of military tech. She can still feel the fear that the Hulk had made her feel, that first time in Harlem, and then again on the Helicarrier.

“I still feel like Ross and Everheart here are going to end up getting Stark in their corner, and then it’s going to suck to be us,” Natasha comments, and Wanda nods.

When Natasha speaks again, she’s pushing herself up from the sofa, picking up her phone from where it had fallen between the cushions. “Clint’s safely out,” she reads, on the text that she unlocks with a swift movement of her fingers.

* * *

There’s a sort of eerie familiarity with the place. When he pushes the buttons at the entrance, Barney can’t help but smile at how fitting it is that they haven’t changed the combination to the entrance in all those years. He can still remember the time spent here. He knows every inch of the place.

As he moves inside, his legs moving for him, knowing to take the stairs rather than the elevator, he can remember all the history that this building holds - there’s still a bullet hole somewhere. Marks on the walls from where all the furniture had been stacked. He thinks back to the roof, and can’t help but smile.

It’s nice to be back. And fitting that Clint chose this place for them to meet in secret. Nobody would think about it.

As he climbs the stairs, Barney recollects the memories that seem to live again. He reaches one of the upper floors, He can still see that the door which screams “NOT AN EXIT” is newer than the rest. He remembers Clint having gone through it, that one time. He thinks to the roof again, called up there for some reason.

He’d spent time up there, barbecuing. Also, hit in the head. Thankfully, now, there are no more tracksuit draculas. Only Russian mobs and a man called Fisk to try and tear this city down. Thankfully, Fisk had been apprehended, but Barney still thinks that the masked vigilante who had helped take him down needed to be investigated. He’d asked Clint. Clint had told him it wasn’t their business. What happened in Hell’s Kitchen stayed in Hell’s Kitchen.

He pushes all the way, sways when he reaches Clint’s old floor, looks at the door.  He remembers that flat like was it yesterday that Clint had lived there. He climbs further up, and pushes the door open to the roof.

Barney’s eyes flutter from the left to the right, and when he doesn’t see Clint immediately, he takes two steps out onto the roof and looks back. Clint is sitting on the top of the metal container through which you come out onto the roof, watching him closely. He’s got a black eye, even blacker than the last time they’d seen each other. He’s wearing civies, hasn’t gotten any gear on. Just like the old days, Barney muses.

“Good you could make it,” Clint says, as he pushes himself to a crawl and reaches down with his feet, gliding in a not so elegant manner down from the metallic room. He joins Barney who looks at him, up and down and nods.

“Zelda’s keeping them busy,” he replies, and Clint nods. “How’d it go with Rogers?” 

“You were there, you saw it all,” Clint smiles, and ruffles his own hair. There’s a light smell of piss and gasoline up here, and Barney knows Clint’s mind is flowing freely with memories. “He took it, and that’s the most important part.”

“The guys aren’t happy,” Barney cuts in, and Clint eyes darken immediately. “Maynard is pissed at Ronin, you probably know. He’s gonna use Zelda. He wants someone dead.” He breathes through his nose, hard, and Clint grimaces.

“Does it matter who it is at this point?” 

“Not really. He’s been waiting for this too long. They’re grasping for straws.”

“How did he take it when you showed up?” Clint asks, and Barney smiles.

“He took it… Well. He was surprised, but then not really.” 

They stand quiet for a moment. As they take in all that has happened. There is so much that hasn’t happened yet, and it’ll all go so fast. 

“He said that you’re doomed, and that eventually, you’ll lose something that will break you. Didn’t specify what, but when he saw me come at him because of what you did, because of what I supposedly saw, helping Ronin get into the locations and all that, he said that you’ll pay,” Barney goes on, with a long sigh. 

Their eyes meet, and they both nod at each other. Moving around, Clint kicks at a pebble on the ground, unsure of what to do. Barney looks over at the far east corner and remembers time spent there, in a wheelchair, in what seems like eons ago. It’s so long ago, he thinks, and he sighs. He’s gotten so old. They both have. He’s going on 50, and Clint is going on 45. They aren’t young anymore. 

He thinks back to the time where they wore jeans with holes and white t’shirts. He thinks back to the time where pizza was an acceptable excuse for everything and a perfect meal at any time. He even thinks back to the dog. What was its name, again? Happy? No, not that. Lucky, perhaps? He smiles at the memory, before Clint bends forward and picks up one of the stones he’s been kicking at. 

“I think you’re going to have to die, Barney,” Clint finally says, with a sense of finality that doesn’t leave any doubt. “Can’t think of any way around it.” Barney feels his entire body freeze. He’s done that before. He’s died before, and he doesn’t like the memories that this bring back - Austria, Zemo. Fighting Clint. Almost killing him.

The sudden silence around them feels so heavy that Barney almost keels over. Clint watches him intently. Barney feels his heat skip a beat - or so he thinks. He looks around him, like an animal caught in the headlights of a truck it can’t escape, and for a fleeting moment, he thinks about running.

Then, Clint closes the distance between them, and for the first time in ages, Clint is embracing him in a hug. It’s a tight hug. Barney can feel the aches and sores and bruises screaming to push Clint away, but instead he accepts it and presses Clint closer. Clint is all that he’s got left of a family. A dark thought circles through his mind as he thinks back to what he did last time he’d almost died, and he pushes it back, enjoying Clint’s embrace. And then, he accepts it. 

If protecting his little brother means that he has to die, then so be it. All his life, he’s spent it trying to protect his brother. 

In the little seconds they stand together, Barney thinks back to all their life. Shared, separated, together once again. 

He thinks back to the first time he’d ever stood between Harold and Clint, and took the first hits to protect his little brother. He thinks back to the first time he’d associated pain with his little brother, protecting him from the greater evils. Making it his responsibility to protect him, to make him the better man - Barney had understood very young that he’d never be able to be a good man. Because of things he did. Things he saw. Things he heard. But Clint? Clint would always be the better man. The greater man.

As he releases Clint from his embrace, Barney smiles. His eyes are cheerful, as are Clint’s, as if they both know what this means. This is the only way that it ends. 

Captain America himself can’t stop it. The Black Widow herself can’t do it. Those are the ones that Clint are meant to be with, the ones he’s supposed to protect. Clint is an Avenger, Barney muses. Barney would only ever be a Dark Avenger, if he were ever promoted. He looks at his little brother, and as much as he sees the pain and the years of hardship, he sees the little kid that was scared when they went for the circus the first time, the little kid who wasn’t sure what they were worth. 

That’s the little kid that Barney protects. It’s his duty. It’s his only duty in this life. 

And it’s the one last thing he can do for Clint.

In a world where Thor is real, where robots are part human part machine, where traitors come from the dark to stab you… the last thing Barney can do is save Clint from his past.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How did you like it?
> 
> Barney defending Clint to the entire world will be the death of me - and more. There are still a great many things to come, the reveal, dealing with the Circus of Crime and Ronin... But first. What are your thoughts? Your feelings? Did you recognize the building, at the end? :)  
> Tell me all, you know how much your comments mean to me, so please! Leave one! I'd love it so very much!


	10. The Prestige - Phase 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing left to lose - they have to act now. They have to act to in order to get the Circus of Crime behind bars, and it means that everything has to work smoothly together, as if it's a delicate waltz danced by too many people where too many things can go wrong. Will it, though? Will it? Go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and for the ongoing feedback - I honestly can't tell you how much this all means to me. This fic is becoming my most precious thing in the world, and seeing you all react to it - it makes me so fucking happy. 
> 
> Anyway! Chapter 10! Ready here, ready for your tears! Getting ready for the grand finale, and getting ready to say goodbye to some characters too... I'm ready. 
> 
> Are you?
> 
> (Warning: Character death at the end of the chapter).

It smells of iron and melted aluminum. Clint has just pushed through the door to one of the labs the New Avengers facility has set up, and didn’t expect anyone to be down there.

However, he recognizes Sam pretty soon, as he sees his figure bent over what appears the back piece of his Falcon wings. “What happened?” Clint asks, and Sam looks up, half startled.

“Nothing happened,” he replies, with a stern look on his face. Walking up to him, fidgeting, Clint looks over Sam’s shoulder at the work he’s doing. It is indeed the motherboard of the technology in his wings, but Clint can’t understand why Sam is doing anything about it.

“You sure? Because that looks like more than an accident,” he insists, and Sam looks up again, before he breathes in, and out, through his nose.

“It’s very important that you don’t tell anyone about this. Natasha knows, because she was there but… Please don’t tell anyone because it’s embarrassing,” he says, and Clint’s eyebrow rises. He’d come down here to find some of the trick arrows that he knows Stark has laid away for him, for future use.

“Some dude calling himself Ant-Man stole something, and he pulled out some of the cables in my suit.” It feels incredibly serious, and at the same time, Clint can’t help but feel amused.

“That looks like it was done by a mouse or something, not someone-”

“He was using some sort of shrinking tech, alright? Was the worst fight I’ve ever had because he kept disappearing in front of me,” Sam defends himself, and Clint nods. “I was trying to protect the building, because with you guys being alert all the time, and Wanda practicing flying too, we didn’t want anyone else inside, but this guy got in. He rode a flying ant!”

Clint pulls out one of the chairs and looks at the work Sam is doing, nodding. “Alright, fair enough. Shrinking technology, that’s Hank Pym’s work, right? Darren Cross took over from that with Pym Tech-”

“Yeah, except Pym Tech got disintegrated last night.”

Clint snorts. “No? Really?”

“I swear, you should look up the news. It’s been all over it. They have no idea how it happened, but the guys used a tank to get out before it just disappeared into a black hole or something.” Sam is impressed, but also incredibly amused. He goes on, though. “But promise me, you can’t tell anyone that I got beat up by a guy who shrinks. Who the hell does that?” he asks, and Clint shrugs.

“Hank Pym, I guess,” Clint states and Sam pauses for a second. 

“No?”

“What?”

“Hank Pym was the guy who was Ant-Man in those old war promotion pictures? The propaganda?”

Clint laughs, as he finally finds the arrows he’s looking for, in a closed box under some of Steve’s things. “Well, yeah. It was just a way to make the real footage look fake so that people wouldn’t get their hands on it,” he replies, pretty nonchalantly. “Just like we kept some of the old school HYDRA stuff off people’s radar for a while,” he adds.

Sam nods, as he focuses on the suit again, the circuitry inside looking more like a mess than anything else. “Just don’t tell Steve,” he says again and Clint stands up straight again. He can feel the blood pumping around his black eye, and he’s battered too. Thankfully his spleen hadn’t ruptured when Steve had hit him, but he was still sore from the fight they’d had. Nobody had mentioned it, but none of them had asked about it either.

“I never told anyone about Riley or Baghdad,” he reminds Sam, who looks up. “There’s just Fury who knows, and MI-6, but that’s it. Never told anyone,” he adds.

“Didn’t even tell Laura,” he says, with a smile. 

“Well, since you’re so secretive about everything,” Sam starts, “with you being Ronin and stuff, there anything else you want to share? Like, perhaps what your role in the IMF is?”

Clint laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I share Ronin and Laura with you guys, I’m not telling you what I do for the IMF, but it was a nice try,” he says, before he goes for the exit.

“Hey, good luck with that,” he motions to the suit, and Sam nods again.

“Yeah, good luck with whatever you figure out with the circus freaks.”

* * *

There’s a new setup on the wall, Natasha notices. Steve isn’t there right now, so she took the time to come in and see if she could find the papers where Clint had scribbled some contact information, but she stops up and looks at the new threads and pictures set up on the wall.

It’s all about Barney. Barney’s picture is in the middle of it, and there are copies of old police records and other files that she knows Steve has printed from their saved SHIELD files. Some others he must have found elsewhere, because she doesn’t remember it. There are threads leading to different things - one, in red, leads to HYDRA and the symbol. Right next to it, she recognizes the octopus that Spectre uses, and she muses if Steve is wondering about a connection. 

They’ve always known that Barney had been working with HYDRA. After all, he was the one who’d told them about Sokovia when they’d raided an Alaskan base, but he’d been working with them. Not for them. There are notes, scribbled rapidly in Steve’s almost unreadable handwriting. She frowns, steadying herself in front of the it all, taking it all in. 

Another thread, in blue, leads to AIM and Justin Hammer, which she remembers perfectly from his partnership with Vanko, all those years back. Notes of weapons smuggling, drug dealing, having known El Chapo and others. Those were all the things that they knew Barney had done - of them all, he was probably the dirtiest. She had deaths, dozens and dozens of deaths on her conscience. Kids, too. But Barney?

Barney had been far around in the world. Messed with so many dirty people. Of all the people in their close circle, she wonders how they had never thought about him before? Maybe because Clint never mentioned him. Ever. So he hadn’t been a possibility.

She follows the green thread that leads to a cut out map of Austria, and what looks like a cross. She knows that something happened to Barney in Austria, years ago, before she was taken in by Clint, before she joined SHIELD and defected from the KGB. But was it death? Did he die? That wasn’t possible. And then again… In a world where they could unfreeze a super soldier who’d been asleep for 70 years, wouldn’t it be possible for someone to die and come back from the dead? 

Unless he had never been dead to begin with? Her fingers touch the thread, carefully, as if she were afraid to break all the work Steve had put into this. Was this Ronin’s origin? Through death? Maybe she-

“Romanoff,” Steve’s voice suddenly interjects and she jumps. She hadn’t meant to, never allowing herself to jump. “What are you doing?” he asks, and she turns around, showing him the file that she’d taken from a pile.

“Getting intel,” she replies, as she notices there’s a chair missing in the room. Her eyes flutter for a few seconds as she takes it in, and she wants to ask. What happened in here, Steve? Did you guys fight? Or did you find a common ground on where to stand? she thinks, and she sighs.

She makes a move to go out of the room, but Steve looks down and, the moment she sets her foot in the doorway, he speaks again. “I was wrong about Clint,” he says, and she stops. Staring straight ahead, she clutches the file in her hand. This is not the time. Nor the place. They have to figure out a way to get Maynard, Jacques and all the others into police custody so they can finish this. They need to finish it soon, or it’ll blow out of proportions. She can feel her heart fluttering in her chest, as she wants to make a run for it.

Teammates fighting was always the thing she was most afraid of. She’d seen how Phil and Clint had argued, time and time again, about this or that way to do things. She’d seen how it affected people, when they’d all argued on the helicarrier, pushed by Loki’s scepter. She’d seen how the scepter, again, had controlled them right after Ultron had made it out of the Tower. She didn’t like it. But she stops anyway, and listens to Steve.

“He told me- Barney- He-” he pauses, trying to find the words, and she lets him. She can see that he’s tired, exhausted too. This? Searching for a villain who turned out to be a friend, grasping for a ghost that can’t be found? It’s exhausting him, and she understands only too well. He has never been given rest since he woke. He probably needs it.

“Clint’s the better part of SHIELD. He was with Fury and Peggy, he knows what he’s doing.” Another pause. “But Barney? He’s- I don’t- I don’t know if we can trust him. He was here, when Clint and I had our argument. I don’t know what his motivations are, and why he’s doing this. Clint said that he’s gone to work with the Circus of Crime, revealing himself to be Ronin’s partner all along, but I don’t get it?”

Natasha frowns, but takes a step back to look at Steve. “Hey, look at the board you made. Barney’s life is a clusterfuck of every single bad thing you could ever dream of doing,” she says, as she points to the wall. “He’s been in so many different circles, done so many things, I’m surprised Clint even trusts him at this point.” She smiles, then, before looking down, thinking back to the first time she met Barney. In a kitchen, somewhere far off, after Clint had been shot.

“I understand why you’re worried. He might as well be the Grand Master behind all of this, but I trust him to not make anything to hurt Clint. He might hurt us in the process, but he would never do anything to Clint. You’ve seen how protective he is of him, and how Clint is with him. They’d never do anything to each other,” she says, quietly, as she steps out of the room and turns around in the corridor to look at Steve again.

Steve looks at her, and the way his eyes gleam, she wonders how he does this. “Get some rest, Steve. We’ll figure out a way to get them all behind bars, you don’t have to lead this team at all times,” she says, putting her hand on his shoulder. He looks at her fingers, before letting out a sigh. 

“When we were in Canada?” he says, and Natasha nods, taking her hand back, knowing something is coming. “Barney told us to look to the North of the border for Bucky,” he continues, and she nods again. “He was in Moncton. Bucky- he was- Bucky was in Moncton. A couple of days before we went there. I don’t know how Barney knew that, but he knew where Bucky was.”

Natasha takes a couple of seconds before she allows herself to reply, looking down at the paperwork she has against her chest. “Go rest, Steve. We’ll find him eventually, don’t worry,” she says, her voice warm and kind. He nods, and she leaves him. She doesn’t look back over his shoulder, only notices that she’s walking faster than she wanted to.

There’s something going on with Barney, and she has a bad feeling about it. He’s never been this involved with them, never come or gone without Clint there, and yet, he’s shared their bread and beds these last couple of weeks. Pretending to be him, Clint pretending to be him. She closes her eyes as she thinks back to Ronin, to the ones they’ve fought, wonders who was who. She can’t figure it out, and suddenly her mind is blowing up with thoughts and fears and she steadies herself against the wall.

What if Barney is the one playing them all? He told them he wasn’t the mastermind behind it all… But what if he was?

* * *

James has made it back from New York and the Avengers tower half an hour ago. He’s been discussing with Tony about what’s rumbling from the government’s side of things, talking about how General Ross has asked him to become a consultant of the New Avengers.

He’s asked him to spy on them for him. Which he doesn’t feel like doing. Especially now, that he’s doing something as sensitive as lying to him about who Ronin truly is - because even General Ross has heard Ronin’s name on the winds and wants to know who this masked assassin is. 

“We need to finish this soon,” he says as he finishes buttoning the cufflinks on his wrist, having changed out of the suit and its thermal fabric and into something a bit more practical. Wanda turns around, trying to push herself up again with her magic, fails to do so as she walks over to him and greets him with a hug.

“How is Stark?” she asks, and he shrugs.

“Doing good, he’s annoyed at all of this Accords nonsense,” James says, and turns around to see Steve coming through the door behind him. Sam and Natasha are still missing. Clint is gone as Ronin, back to the circus to hear from them again. 

Steve speaks as he enters the room. “Good to see you, Rhodey,” he says, before turning his head around as Sam makes his way into the room. “Clint said Barney’s with the Circus of Crime now, something about him going in and playing pretend,” he flatly announces, and Sam’s expression changes from cheerful to a frown.

“What?”

They hear Natasha’s footsteps, and Steve waits for her to be through the door before he speaks again. “When Barney hit Wanda in the head right before Clint took off the mask, he went with Princess Python, we know that much from the security footage. Clint’s told us since then that Barney’s bluffing them now, by pretending to have switched sides.” Steve and Natasha exchange a glance, which does not go unnoticed by James.

“You guys wanna say something?” he asks, and Steve turns around, pressing the on button on one of the screens in the room. It’s a picture of the wall he’s made about Barney, and the look on Wanda’s face tells him enough: none of them had expected all of this from the older Barton brother. Natasha has seen this wall up close, and she’s helped Steve complete it.

“We don’t know if Barney’s on our side, on Clint’s side or if he’s with the Circus of Crime, and has been since the beginning,” Steve announces. Wanda walks up to the screen, and looks over her shoulder at Natasha and Sam.

“I have been in his mind,” she says. “I have seen his motivations, he is not behind this,” she states, but Steve shakes his head.

“We don’t know, we can’t be sure. Maybe he’s been hiding everything from you by keeping it hidden,” he says, “in some way or another. There’s no way to know that he’s telling the entire truth,” he continues. Wanda shakes her head again.

“I do not believe Barney is of ill intent, not in this case,” she says, and Sam nods before taking a step forward, to get all of their attention.

"I’m not saying that we shouldn’t proceed with that thought, but we know for sure Duquesne is one of the bad guys, he decapitated someone right in front of you, Cap, and Maynard is the big bad wolf who almost killed us all when we went to get Clint after he’d been fake kidnapped, so let’s focus on getting those two behind bars. Maybe get Franklin and the others too, if that works out,” Sam says, and Natasha nods. 

“So, what do we do?” James asks, and Natasha stands up in front of them all.

“Clint’s agreed to get us the location of their new meeting place,” she starts, “and Fury has said that he’s ready to move in with some agents he trusts to help us. They’re going to call in back-up from the CIA, with Sharon Carter’s help,” she says, eyeing Steve’s reaction to the name, but his face remains blank, “and with Maria Hill. We’ve still got a lot of manpower, and getting four or five people in custody should be a simple task if we can just surprise them.” She pauses, as she takes the time to focus on her words.

“Basically,” she starts again, as she straightens up to appear stronger than what she feels like right now, “he’s going to go in for their next meeting, and wear a tracker in the Ronin suit. That’s when we’ll go in and grab them, take them into custody.” 

There aren’t many instances where the utter silence and lack of response to one of her phrases has made her nervous. But this is one of them. She looks to each of her teammates, but especially and most of all, she looks to Steve. She sees his eyes harden, she knows that he doesn’t like it. He’s apologized to her, but has he apologized to Clint? Finally, he nods and everyone else lets out a breath. And Natasha nods too.

“So, we have to let him do his thing. Once they’re settled in their new meeting rooms, we have to go and grab them. I need to talk with Director Fury to hear what he suggests doing, knowing we’ve tried going toe to toe with them all once, and we know how that ended,” she says, looking at Sam and Steve and James, Wanda nodding, understanding. 

James stands up, and looks at them all. “I suggest we call in some sort of law enforcement too,” he suggests, and Natasha looks over at him, as Steve stays quiet, focused. Sam doesn’t really move. “If we bring in the Circus of Crime, it’ll be a long and dutiful lawsuit, giving them all their sentences and proving all their ills,” he says, and Sam bites his lower lip.

“Can’t agree with you,” he adds, and Wanda looks at him. “Clint said he wanted to keep this off the press, we do this discreetly, with as little people as possible,” he continues, and Natasha nods. “We can’t risk his identity as Ronin being revealed, we’ve got Ross lurking at our very door and if he finds out that Clint, of all of us, has been playing a double sided game, he’s going to start pounding on that door a lot harder,” Sam finishes and Rhodey clenches his fist, almost grimacing. 

“Alright, so, Natasha,” Steve says, “you get Fury on the line. Ask him how many agents he can get up and running to support us in this, so that none of them disappear in the darkness of the underworld again,” he continues, and she nods. “Wanda, you go back to training. If you can make your first flight last for longer than 5 seconds, double it as soon as possible. James, see if you can figure out anything about how far and how much General Ross is pushing you guys and the military on our backs-”

“He’s talking about releasing Emil Blonsky,” James interrupts and Natasha stops dead in her tracks.

“Excuse me?” she says, turning her head towards him.

“To pardon him and make an example out of him. He’s a failure of the United States government, and so he mentioned to one of the other high guys in my fraction that he’d like to see if he can reason with Abomination, or at least get him to do things he wants to do, unlike the way Hulk does it.” He pauses, and looks down. “I’ve strongly suggested him not to turn off the cryosleep on the Abomination, but we have to be prepared for that to happen.”

Steve shakes his head, before he motions for the door. “Get ready, figure it out. I want this over by the end of the week,” he says, and as they all leave, one after the other, he looks up at the picture of his wall. 

There’s something he’s missing, and it’s pissing him off.

* * *

“ _ Muhmuh _ ,” Nathaniel grumbles against Clint’s chest. He doesn’t exactly say proper words yet, but he’s figured out this one. That, and no. Clint moves his head down to look at his son, sleeping on his chest, watching Nathaniel’s fingers unfold, before grabbing Clint’s shirt again. Nathaniel has covered Clint’s chest with drool, mostly because he’s been sleeping with his mouth open lately. “Muh,” he starts again.

“Yeah, I heard you buddy,” Clint says as he puts his hands against Nathaniel’s back, scooting up to a sitting position, Nathaniel moving his head upwards to make sure it was still his daddy holding. “Mommy isn’t here right now, she’s gone to town to do groceries,” Clint explains, as he lets Nathaniel slide down into his lap, and the toddler moves slightly to the side, moving over.

“Muhmuh, no?” 

Clint shakes his head with an apologetic frown on his face, and Nathaniel’s faces scrunches up. “I told you, I’m not going to listen to you if you’re going to whine,” Clint says, his eyes big and round, getting all of Nathaniel’s attention. 

It’s the first time in months where Laura has felt confident enough, and healthy enough, to go grocery shopping on her own, so she’d taken Cooper along with her to help carry the groceries, and abandoned Clint with Nathaniel and Lila.

Nathaniel’s hand flies up to his eye, and he rubs it, still sleepy, and when he yawns, Clint catches him before he loses his balance and falls backwards onto the mattress. “Hey, bud,” he says again, and Nathaniel chews on air a little before focusing on Clint again.

“Dada,” he motions, his hands flying out to be picked up by Clint again. Turning to the side and throwing his legs off the bed, to a sitting position, Clint can feel his head swim slightly. The black eye that Steve gave him still hasn’t really subsided, and he’s pretty sure that his eyebrow cracked at the impact.

That, and he’s been having a hard time breathing because he’s pretty sure that the bruise he got from the jab to his gut is pushing on his ribs, which he’s pretty sure are either chipped or slightly traumatized. “Be right there,” Clint mutters, as he takes a deep breath, putting his fingers on the bruise.

Nathaniel shuffles over the bedcovers to sit next to Clint on the edge of the bed, and looks up at Clint with his big, curious eyes. He puts his little hand over his eye and points to Clint with the other one. It’s his way of imitating the black eye, and it makes Clint laugh because Nathaniel’s face scrunches up in concentration when he does so. “Datda no,” Nathaniel says, before leaning to the side, resting his head against Clint’s hand on his ribs.

Watching his own breathing slowly rising and lowering Nathaniel’s head, Clint smiles. Nathaniel’s hair is finally getting some color, after being almost blonde for the first months, and the ginger reflections remind Clint of Barney. (And of Harold, but he doesn’t linger on that thought. Cooper and Lila had inherited his sandy brown and Laura’s chestnut brown hair, but it looked like Nathaniel would get the fiery red mop that was such a characteristic for Clint that it left absolutely no doubt as to who he got it from).

Closing his eyes to steady his breathing as he slowly moves his fingers up and down his bruise, he notices Nathaniel shifting position, before turning around, his small chubby legs making to a standing position as he wiggles, holding onto Clint’s knee with a free hand. “Muhmuh,” Nathaniel whines again, a louder and higher whine, and Clint lets out a sigh.

Bending forward and picking up his son, Clint moves out of the bedroom and as he passes through the corridor, he knocks on Lila’s room. “Wanna get some snacks?” he asks, which is soon followed by feet shuffling along the floor. The door opens and Lila looks up at him, her hair in an unfinished side braid, some hair sticking slightly out to the side. 

“Yes! But can I, like, maybe, just finish my braid first?” she says, and Clint nods, as Nathaniel bounces off his chest slightly, and he goes down to the kitchen.

They’ve been staying at the safehouse for a little over a week now, which means that Lila and Cooper are missing out on school, but he doesn’t care - their safety is more important than any maths or English lessons they’re going to miss. 

He pushes the high chair out from the table with his foot and manages to get Nathaniel to sit down in it, strapping him in and turning him around so he can watch Clint prepare some toast for himself and Lila. Turning his back on his son, Clint grabs the handle for one of the cabinets, opens it up and pulls out the chocolate spread, listening to Nathaniel’s self exploratory sounds. Laura’s told him that Nathaniel is learning how to make sounds with his mouth, which is why he almost never quietens now - it’s a constant babble of dobadeedles, but then-

“Bana!” 

The sound is louder than what he’s been saying, and Clint looks over his shoulder, and finds Nathaniel hunched over to the side of the high chair, trying to grab the duffel bag which is lying a couple of feet from him, near the floor.

“What did you just say?” Clint asks, as he moves closer to Nathaniel again, putting the slices of bread on a kitchen towel instead of a plate (it’s easier to clean up and there’s no dish washer in the safe house).

“Bana-nananana!” Nathaniel repeats, making grabby hands at the duffel.

Clint chuckles before he replies. “It’s Barney, not banana,” he laughs, as Nathaniel makes a frown at him, apparently offended. “Barney?” he repeats, and Nathaniel nods.

“Banana.”

“No, Barney. Bar-ney,” he tries, and this time, Nathaniel points at the duffel without looking at it.

“Nanananana- Bana!” he exclaims, and Clint can’t help bursting out laughing.

“Seriously, buddy, don’t call Barney a banana or he’ll be mad at you,” he manages to say as he chuckles again, moving back to the counter.

“Who’s calling Barney a banana?”

Lila walks through the kitchen door, and Nathaniel exclaims his frustration at being interrupted by stomping his feet on the wooden step on his high chair. “Your little brother is,” Clint says, smiling wide. It hurts his eye when his faces crinkles, but he’s not going to keep his smiles at bay because it hurts.

“Hah, if he hears that he’s never bringing Nathaniel Christmas presents again,” she laughs as she sits down on one of the chairs, Clint joining them and turning Nathaniel’s high chair to be facing the table.

Clint hands Lila her toast with chocolate on it, before setting half a slice without spread in front of Nathaniel, who picks it up firmly in one hand, a huge grin on his face, before throwing it on the floor with a loud shriek.

“Aww, Nate, no,” Clint says, with a frown, as he watches where the bread went. It lies next to Barney’s duffel bag, and Nathaniel is now watching Lila eat her toast intensely. Clint pushes another half of the bread onto Nathaniel’s high chair, before grabbing a bite of his own snack.

This time, Nathaniel picks up the piece of bread and pulls it into two smaller pieces, shoving one of them into his mouth, his fingers helping it stay in there. 

“Dad?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Was it Steve who hit you like that?” Lila asks, and Clint stops chewing for a split second, before resuming as if he hadn’t just been caught in the headlights of a truck. 

He takes a couple of seconds to chew and swallow what he has in his mouth, before looking at Lila who’s focused on Nathaniel right now. “Yeah, it was,” he finally replies, knowing that he’s promised not to lie.

“Why did he do that?” she asks, as she takes a bite of her toast, and Clint shrugs.

“Because I lied to him, and he doesn’t like liars,” is the only reply that Clint can think up at the moment. 

He notices Lila stops chewing for a second, and it almost looks like she’s going to ask something again, but then, she shakes her head. “Alright. Are you going to lie to him again, then?” she asks, smudging chocolate on her cheek as she tries to take a bite that’s too large for her.

“No, I’m not going to lie to him again,” Clint replies, as Nathaniel spits out the half chewed half soaked piece of toast he’s been drooling all over. “Nate!” Clint calls, and Nathaniel throws the remaining toast on the floor again.

“Banana!” he yells, and Clint rolls his eyes at the same time Lila grins. She gets up from her bed and picks up the still droolless pieces of bread and throws it in the trash, while Clint picks up a paper towel to clean up after Nathaniel. “Banananana-”

“Yes, I get it, you’re talking about Barney. Why is that?” Clint asks, then, giving his son his full attention and Nathaniel pouts at him, showing his tongue. (Clint was going to kill Cooper for teaching Nathaniel to put out his tongue).

“Banana no datda.”

“I honestly have no idea what that means, buddy, but alright,” Clint says in a flat tone, shoving the rest of his toast in his mouth and unstrapping Nathaniel, who only allows Clint to take him out of the high chair, before shuffling over to the duffel.

Lila picks up the chocolate spread and helps Clint clear the table. He doesn’t really pay attention to the zipping noise, but when he turns around he stops dead before holding his hand in front of his mouth as he tries to contain the laughter bubbling up inside his chest. 

“What’s wro-” Lila starts, before she turns around and sees the same thing as he does and she lets out an amused grunt before hiding her face behind her hands.

“Nathaniel Pietro Barton, take that off right now,” Clint laughingly says, as he strides over to his son and pulls off the Ronin mask from his head. 

* * *

“Are you not afraid?” shes asks, as he holds her hand steady. She’s hovering slightly above the ground, just one centimeter, sweat pearling on her face as she concentrates on the effort.

“No,” he replies, as she lets go and falls onto her feet again, as light as a ballerina. Wanda looks to the side and meets his gaze, but she sees his honesty and can feel it rippling off him in waves. “But I have a bad feeling about this,” he adds, almost instantly, and this time, she lets go of his hand to stand by herself.

“How so?”

“It’s- There’s- It’s- There’s this thing,” he says, as he sighs, not finding the words for it. She gives him the time to find the answer. He’d come in to train one last time with her before the big fight, before he met up with the Circus of Crime again. Before they’d interrupt them and hopefully, take in the people responsible for this mess.

“You got your powers from the Mind Stone, right?” he asks, finally, and she nods. He bites his lower lip, before he takes a step away from her, giving her space. “Can- did- what was it like?”

“It hurt. The Mind Gem killed all the other volunteers,” she says, her voice flat, cold, icy. Clint’s read the files on Von Strucker’s work, on how only Pietro and Wanda made it out alive. “It was like torture. Someone taking your brain and playing with it. Taking a part of you out and stuffing something else in,” she replies, and Clint almost stops short in his breath.

He remembers saying those words, or almost, to Natasha on the Helicarrier after Loki. He remembers the pain ruffling through him. He can feel it all surfacing again, but, instead of letting it get the better of him, he takes a deep breath. “Can you- Do-” he pauses, as he fumbles with the words. “Did you feel the others too?” he asks, and Wanda’s eyes flutter to him, to the ground, to him again.

He can see her lower lip trembling. It takes a couple of seconds before she replies, her hand shaking.

“I feel them,” she replies, her fingers glowing red as she tries to focus again. Clint grabs her hand, not caring about the sting of the red mind power pushing him away. “The Tesseract, the Space Stone,” she starts, “it powers the Bifrost. It is how Thor travels between realms,” she says, and Clint nods. 

As she speaks, she focuses on him, sees the door to his mind. She can feel him, his thoughts - and, as she speaks again, her eyes grow wide. “The Mind Stone, powers Vision,” she continues, and Clint nods again, closing his eyes. “It hums, I can feel its whispers.” 

Suddenly, Clint feels her thoughts in his head again, a bright invasion of colors. He hears her voice, but also her thoughts. “There are others,” she whispers, as a bright purple flash appears in his head.

“The Power Stone,” she says, and he sees a flash of another world, of stars and fights and aliens. “It has awoken too,” and Clint briefly sees a male, before Wanda’s thoughts move onto another stone, and this time, he knows it too.

“There are more,” he says, and Wanda nods. He can feel the reality leave them behind, as he enters a world that he isn’t sure is real. Wanda doesn’t seem phased by this place, and he wonders. Is this how her own mind is? “The Aether,” he says, and she moves to the side, holding his hand, showing him what looks like a city in ruins.

Footsteps on the floor indicate someone was here not too long ago, and then Clint gets a flash to the convergence in Greenwich. “You felt it too,” Wanda says, and he nods. “When it woke, you felt it.”

An echoing voice makes it way into the dark and cold room, and Clint looks over his shoulder, trying to find the source. “You’re not the only one,” she whispers, as Clint sees an illusion, Erik Selvig speaking to an audience, but then, his voice gets distorted, as one of Wanda’s illusions take over, and he sees Jane Foster too. She’s seen them, felt them as well. 

He wants to let go of Wanda’s hand now, but she doesn’t let him. “More,” she says, and Clint tries to push his hand free of hers, but they’re in her head now. She’s the one pulling the strings. He sees a flash of orange, and suddenly, a flash of a temple which Clint recognizes as the Pashupatinah Temple throws him off his feet. However, he’s still glued to Wanda’s hand, and he can’t escape.

He sees a man, cloaked and blurred, a shadow among the others, and hears Wanda whispering by his side. “Time, this is time,” she then says, as she motions around her with her head, Clint shaking his own. This isn’t what he wanted. He’s felt them all, has been feeling them all ever since the point of that tip touched his chest, and he wants to rip the thoughts out of his head. An echoing voice suddenly makes it through to him, and he suddenly gets a feeling of déjà-vu as he sees himself from above.

“ _You'll be made of you, Mr. Barton. Your own girlfriend won't be able to tell the difference._ ” Helen Cho’s words echo to him, and he feels his stomach turning. Her as well? He looks around, sees Wanda staring straight ahead of her. 

And then, the lights change, suddenly bright and blinding, and Clint takes his free hand to hide his eyes. When he opens them, the throne room he sees feels familiar and yet so distant. But he recognizes it as the Asgardian Throne room almost immediately, the patterns on Thor’s armor repeated on the walls. Wanda’s red lights shine, and suddenly, a red flash crashes up to the figure sitting on the throne, and Clint almost flinches.

“Wanda!” he yells, the old man on the throne suddenly enveloped in a red smoke. “You killed him!” he says, and she holds up her own hand, pulling the red shadows back to herself, the red turning black, turning heavy, turning to goo, falling to the floor and liquefying on the steps, on the figure hunched on the throne, and when Clint looks again, his stomach drops again and he feels like he’s going to throw up.

Sitting there, unimpressed, he sees Loki.

The God of Mischief turns his head, and Clint is absolutely sure that he sees him.

The next second, he’s back in the training room, his shirt drenched in sweat, his hands shaking. 

Wanda lets go of his hand, and his knees buckle under him, as he turns his head away from her, retching the last remains of his lunch onto the ground. Wanda stands there, next to him, quiet, looking down at her hands. 

“Is this what it’s like?” he asks, as he finally finds his voice again, his fingers trembling, his arms trembling, his entire body reacting to what he just saw. “Is this what the scepter and the stones did to you?” he asks, again, and Wanda looks at him, quiet. She knows. 

“Yes.” She doesn’t say anything more, but Clint frowns, as he wipes his hand on his shirt, a useless gesture.

“You can hear it too,” he says, and she nods. His fingers go to his head. “The Soul Gem.” He pauses, and she suddenly looks like Lila to him. Too young to be in this war, too fragile. Too innocent. This isn’t what she was supposed to be doing. Fighting wars of magic and monsters. 

“I can feel it,” she answers, as Clint pulls himself up to a standing position again. “It is in you, it is in Jane Foster, in Helen Cho, in Erik Selvig. It is in Loki too, it is everywhere.” She finally closes her eyes, and when she opens them, Clint holds his hand over the burn mark on his chest. 

He looks up at her, and when she nods, he feels his face breaking. They both know it. He’s been suspecting it for a while now too, but now there’s just nothing to do. All of them, all those who had touched one of the gems, had caused damage. Clint could still feel it in his mind, nagging at his mind, at all times.

“It calls to the other gems,” Wanda says, forgetting Clint, forgetting Ronin, forgetting the others. Clint turns around, on the verge of tears, desperation suddenly making its way to his heart, as he feels sadness entombing him, a cold shower over his shoulders. 

“It’s in all of us,” Wanda continues, staring right ahead of her, at everything and nothing, seeing only things she knows about. Her fingers shakes. “It passed down from you too,” she finally acknowledges, and Clint storms out of there, leaving her behind. His hands go to his chest, where he carries the mark of the scepter. Where he knows Nathaniel has one mirroring his own.

He meets Natasha on his way out, doesn’t acknowledge her. This is too fucked up, he thinks, and he looks up to the skies. He can’t do this. Not right now. He’s got a job to finish.

He leaves the facility, Wanda’s mind singing in his head as he drives away, her mind fading with the distance. 

* * *

The red dot on the screen indicates Clint’s position. 

It hasn’t moved for the past twelve minutes, except when he started pacing. It’s not a microphone, so they can’t hear what’s being said. 

Natasha’s never been more ready, and Steve has been pacing himself as he warmed up. Sam, James and Wanda are all concentrating. Wanda had refused to tell her what had caused Clint to storm out, but she felt that it was best if it stayed between them.

“Let’s go over the plan one last time,” Sam states, and Steve turns. There’s been so much going on lately that Natasha has sort of lost track of what’s happened and what hasn’t. (Especially since Nick had asked her to make sure that Hank Pym was alright, even though he knew that they had this Ronin mess to take care of).

“We get in there and take them all down, tasers, bites or any other way to immobilize them. Clint said that they’re so confident in their hideouts that they won’t expect it, so it’s a they shouldn’t be prepared or dangerous. But stay alert, there might be other things,” Sam says. He’s been appointed to leading this mission, as it’s similar to some of the operations he ran when he was a pararescue. James has been helping out too. Steve delegated the responsibility when he realized he couldn’t detach emotionally, too suspicious of Barney to think clearly.

“We’ve got Franklin, Olafsen, Duquesne, Tiboldt, Dubois, Clint and Barney in there,” he continues, looking up at Steve who nods. “Natasha takes Duquesne, James takes Olafsen, Wanda stops Dubois, I take Franklin, and you Steve, you go for Tiboldt. Clint’s going to turn on Barney and take him down from there, so we’ve all got it covered.”

There’s a couple of seconds of silence, before Natasha nods. “Remember, even if they’re just surprised, they’re all excellent fighters. Use whatever means necessary to keep them here,” she says, and they all nod, breaking up. 

The face plate on the War Machine armor closes, and Steve pulls on the helmet, while Sam puts on his goggles and Wanda zips up her jacket. Natasha adjusts the bites on her wrists, looking at the red dot indicated that they’re heading closer. She moves up to the pilot’s seat and looks out the window.

“We there soon?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be there soon enough,” the pilot replies, and Natasha grins. “Promise me you’re not going to hit Clint in the head, even if it’s an accident, you know how he feels about that,” she laughs, and Natasha nudges at her shoulder with her fist, one of her bites crackling with electricity.

“Don’t, Nat, you know my blast will take out your bite anywhere and anytime,” the pilot says, as she looks over her shoulder and nods at the rest of the team.

“Drop point coming up in ten-”

Natasha moves over, securing the straps on her back that’ll help keep her from hitting the ground too hard.

“Nine-”

Sam’s wings unfold and he moves to stand near the latch. 

“Eight-”

Steve walks up next to Sam and looks at him. They’ve done this before. They can do it again. None of the people down there are super-powered, and this time, they’ve got Wanda with them.

“Seven-”

James’ armor powers up too, the sound of it reminding Natasha of Tony’s suits.

“Six-”

Wanda looks over her shoulder at the pilot, still wondering if they can trust her. But she knows that Natasha trusts her, and Clint trusts her. After all, she’s one of the only SHIELD agents that Maria Hill and Nick Fury sent their way for assistance.

“Five-”

One last look at the red dot that indicates Clint’s location.

“Four-”

“See you on the other side, Jess!” Natasha yells as the latch opens, and she jumps out, soon followed by all the others.

Of all the agents that Natasha would have thought weren’t HYDRA, Jessica Drew wasn’t one of them.

* * *

Hitting the ground with force, she rolled over to allow the built up momentum out of her body rather than into it, and noticed the others following behind her, Steve as elegant as ever, the others flying down from the jet which was disappearing nearby. They’d wait for them to come with the members of the Circus of Crime in chains before taking them away to the Raft, where they’d stored some villains away in their own time.

They all moved as one from then, the aerial borne ones sweeping and, the others running swiftly across the grounds.

Her gun ready, Natasha felt the adrenaline kick in as soon as she heard the first blast Rhodes fired from his suit at something or someone, and when she made it into the building, down into the room where they knew they were meeting, she felt the rush of battle flowing through her.

Behind her, Wanda ran equally fast and prepared, her red fingers glowing on the doors, catching things around her to knock them down and stop them from running.

She saw that Jacques was fighting Ronin, their swords echoing against each other. Jacques thin, deadly walking stick turned into a sword when he pulled it out of its sheath, and Ronin’s katana made a singing sound whenever they met - it felt so odd, and yet so beautiful to watch them dancing. 

However, she had been the one who had been supposed to go for Duquesne, not Clint. Instead, she looked everywhere for Barney, who was lying on the ground, seemingly passed out from whatever had caused the dent and charred wall piece to the side of the room.

She heard a punch throw from behind and ducked, kicked behind her, the acrobat Eliot Franklin coming at her. She hated how he moved, she hated it - he was fast, and an equally agile fighter as Clint, but he would never be as good. The singing noise of Steve’s shield interrupted her slightly when it slapped into Franklin’s back, and she stepped down on it, picking it up and swinging it back at Steve who was fighting Maynard, standing his ground.

Sam had decided to go after Zelda, who was doing her best to ground him on the floor with whatever she could - she pushed herself to the side whenever Sam tried to land a hit on her, and the Strongman, Olafsen, was holding his ground against War Machine, who had almost gotten him in a headlock.

Franklin comes at her again, and she blocks his fist with her arm, kicking him in the gut, before moving slightly back, as the sound of blades hitting each other subside, Ronin moving over to the side, putting himself between Barney and Duquesne. 

Natasha notices that the Swordsman was bleeding, he looked more intimidating in that outfit than he ever imagined he would - he wears nothing but a blank white tank top and a pair of bleached jeans, the blood smudged on the white fabric suddenly standing out. His eyes are wild, and she remembers why Clint hated Jacques Duquesne with his entire heart. Barney still hasn’t moved.

She roundhouse kicks Franklin again, jumping to the side to assist Wanda with Maynard, where Steve has moved to help James secure the Strongman in some cuffs SHIELD has provided them. Franklin moves over, suddenly assisting Zelda against Sam who shoots at the acrobat, a painful cry echoing around them as the bullet hits its mark.

The utter chaos in the room makes up for everything she has been afraid of - they are on top of this. She can’t hear what Ronin and the Swordsman are saying, but as Wanda holds Maynard immobile with her powers, choking him with her hand extended, she notices Barney blinking, moving his hand to his face.

And suddenly, everything moves as one.

Sam kicks Franklin in the head and the Clown falls to the floor, unconscious, the Swordsman’s sword flies out of his hands and lands next to Barney who is pushing himself upright, looking on at the chaos surrounding him, Bruto the Strongman having seemingly surrendered to James’ suit, Maynard held down by Wanda’s powers, and Zelda refusing to move as Natasha points a gun at her face.

“Don’t you fucking move,” she bites at the snake charmer, and Ronin looks up. His katana touches Jacques throat, a little blood seeping from the point of it, and when Natasha meets his gaze, she nods at him in respect.

The cuffs they all produce fit around the wrists of the criminals easily, Barney making it to his feet, even though he still looks shaken. She hears the sound of more feet shuffling behind her, and suddenly, the place is flooding with SHIELD agents in tactical gear. 

She recognizes Jessica, who nods at her, pointing one of her guns at Maynard Tiboldt, and then, Nick Fury stands in, hands on his hips, while the members of the Circus of Crime drop their heads in defeat. There are no tricks here to get out, there is no way here where they make it out. 

“Well, well, well,” Nick starts, and Jacques spits at his feet while Maynard tries to make it out of Wanda’s hold. “Looks like we finally caught y’all after twenty years,” he continues, his hands behind his back now, an amused smile on his eyes.

Steve is looking on, unimpressed. He recognizes some of the SHIELD agents - Sharon is there too, he sees, and Maria as well - but doesn’t seem overly pleased. There’s too much going on right now. 

The clicking of the cuffs fill the silence as Wanda finally releases Maynard from her hold and moves to check on Sam who’s taken a hit to his face and is bleeding.

Natasha ignores the others and moves over to Barney who is holding himself steady with a hand against the wall, an amused glint in his eyes. “This was easy,” he says, spitting out blood after that, as he looks over Natasha’s shoulder, at Ronin and Nick who are discussing. “About damn time these clowns got thrown into jail,” he mutters again, as he tries to stand up straighter. Natasha notices the stain on his shirt, and they both look at each other. “Just a scratch,” he says, but she turns around and waves one of the agents taking care of Sam over.

“He’s been shot,” she says to the young Agent, while Jessica Drew looked on, talking with Maria Hill, allowing the Agent to take over with Barney, who groans in pain when the medical staff applies a pad to his wound.

* * *

“Thanks for your cooperation,” Nick Fury tells Ronin. Wanda is watching them closely, while they’re preparing to wheel the others out of there. Jessica has moved back into the jet, ready to take them to the Raft.

They both shake hands, and as Wanda looks on, she wonders if any of the members of the Circus of Crime have any idea that it’s actually Clint under the hood. Natasha is discussing with Sam, who’s got a couple of stitches on his forehead, and James is seen discussing with Maria Hill about the best way to process the criminals.

Barney’s sitting slightly to the side, his leg extended, discussing with Steve. Steve’s got a smile on his face, and she feels his aura shining, as if he’s forgiven Barney. Barney’s been stitched up too. Turning her head around, Wanda looks at Jacques, Maynard, and the others.

They look defeated and angry. Only Zelda looks inherently sad, before she looks down at the ground, her eyes closed. Something feels wrong, Wanda suddenly realizes, and she turns around, sensing a threat. Her mind scans everybody, but they’re all fine, nobody is worrying - only Natasha has noticed Wanda.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and Wanda puts out her hand to try and get a better sense of the danger. She points to Zelda, who’s being pushed into the jet now.

“Something- it’s difficult to say,” she answers.

“Wanda, tell me, what do you sense?” Natasha tries again, this time Steve standing straighter, suddenly alert again, Nick Fury looking all around them, scanning the area for an unknown threat. 

The answer to that question came almost immediately, when a loud thud made their attention turn the other way. Barney had fallen to the ground, Steve immediately at his side. 

“He’s dying,” Wanda whispers, before she realizes what is happening, and Natasha leaves her side to join Steve near Barney. Ronin moves past the mess too, pulling off his mask in the process. She can feel the fear spreading off him, the waves of it spiking in her head as she feels Barney’s life force failing.

“Barn’?” Clint asks, Natasha moving to the side, allowing him to get close. Barney’s body is spasming, his fingers clenching and unclenching. “Barney, what’s wrong?” Clint asks again, this time, biting on the fingers of his gloves, pulling them off, putting his hand on Barney’s forehead, to measure his temperature. 

“You’re freezing, Barney, what’s going on? Hey!” he calls, and the member of the medical team who had patched Barney’s gunshot moves over. “What the hell is going on?” he asks, and the agent shakes his head.

“I don’t know, it’s just a gunshot wound, he was fine half an hour ago,” he replies, and Clint scans the room.

However, it’s James Rhodes who brings them the reply to the question. “Guys,” he says, turning around, holding his arms out. There’s one in each hand. One of them is big, angry, slashing at the War Machine suit, biting again, and again, whereas the other seems more prone to the intimidation method. She feels Clint’s heart dropping behind her, and Wanda looks at Nick Fury, who’s started giving instructions around him again, trying to get someone to take care of Barney, to get him out of there. “I found two snakes,” James says, and Clint growls in frustration. He looks up from Barney whose fingers are shaking, and she can feel the warmth leaving him.

Maynard Tiboldt hasn’t moved onto the quinjet yet, everyone focused on what was happening. “Tiboldt!” Clint yells, and he moves up, grabbing the katana he’s set down on the floor while he was discussing with Nick Fury as Ronin, and he strides across, Wanda feeling in his mind that he’s going to kill Maynard.

She chooses not to interrupt. She can feel Barney slipping, and she thinks back to the time she was retching and he took care of her. She remembers looking inside his head, and seeing the affection for his baby brother. She can feel the poison working, as his breathing slows. Natasha snaps her fingers over Barney’s face, as Steve suddenly jumps up, and runs, overtaking Clint and placing himself between him and Tiboldt, keeping him from making it to his target.

“Clint, focus, listen to me-”

“I’m going to kill him,” Clint snaps, as he tries to move out of Steve’s way, trying to walk past him, but Steve refusing to let him.

“Clint, listen, killing him isn’t going to save Barney alright? Let him go,” Steve snarls, and Clint almost headbuts him right then and there to get to Tiboldt. 

“Well, little Hawkeye,” the Ringmaster says, as Maria Hill nudges at him to move on. He refuses to move, though. “Seems like I did get one dead Barton anyway,” he continues, a smirk on his face. 

Wanda has rarely felt Clint so desperate - he’s rage, he’s in pain, he’s despairing. He almost shoves Steve aside this time, but Steve still doesn’t move.

Maria finally manages to get Maynard to move and Clint exhales loudly through his teeth, turning around again and running to Barney’s side. Wanda hasn’t moved yet, she’s just looking on, as if this is all a dream. There’s so much pain around her. Clint is yelling again.

“Barney! Listen to me, you gotta-” he looks up at the medical team. “You gotta give him an anti-venom, don’t you- you have to-”

“Hey, baby brother,” Barney manages to spit out, as his lips start losing their color too. Natasha’s moved away from him, giving Clint space. “Got bitten over an hour ago, ‘stoo late for me,” he slurs, and Clint shakes his head. 

“No, no, we said, only reason one of us dies is because the other killed him,” Clint continues, as he pulls off the yellow silk belt keeping the Ronin costume in place and uses it to remove some of the sweat glistening on Barney’s forehead, “why didn’t you say anything, Barney? You- we could’ve-”

Wanda moves to stand next to Natasha. “He’s slipping away,” she says, and Natasha nods. She can see that. Barney’s white as a ghost now, and Clint is tapping at his chest, trying to get him to reply again to him. The pain in Clint’s head is exploding in her own, and she turns away, she can’t see this.

He’s rocking Barney’s hand back and forth, trying to get him to move. She’s seen Clint cry before. She saw him cry when he opened up about his past, but this is desperate. This is rage. It’s pain. It’s like he’s dying too, and he doesn’t want to. Clint screams when Barney doesn’t reply, screams Barney’s name like it’s going to bring him back, screams loud enough to wake the dead. 

But Wanda senses it. She can almost feel the brush of the Reaper against her hand when she realizes that Barney is gone.

_ Barney is gone.  _

She screamed like this too, when Pietro died. She remembers it now, shaking her to her very core. She remembers exterminating all life around her as the pain had exploded from her heart, when she’d felt the Grim Reaper take Pietro with Him.

All of Clint’s pain - it mirrors her own, and she can’t help but feel the tears in her eyes. Barney’s gone. Barney, the one who promised to protect Clint all of his life, is gone. She doesn’t have to imagine the loss in Clint’s head right now. The tears which are clearing the dirt on his face, leaving smudges of dust and blood near his eyes make her hurt too - he’s still whispering Barney’s name.

Holding Barney’s hand. Natasha’s turned her back on his, and has taken Wanda’s hand too, asking her to come with her. She can feel all the pain, all the hurt, all of the  _ despair  _ in Clint right now. 

_ Barney is gone.  _

He’s fought so hard to protect his family. To protect Laura. Cooper. Lila. Nathaniel. They were the ones he was protecting, the ones that he’s been protecting all this time. They’re the ones he put on the mask for.

And yet, the body he’s cradling now is family too. It’s his first family, the one he came out of, the one he bled with, the one he fled and ran with, the one he argued with, the one he hated. She feels her heart beginning to blur too, feels the sadness, the desperation rolling off Clint hitting her now, as he refuses to let go. 

_ Barney is gone.  _

She turns her back and looks into Nick Fury’s eye. He understands too. She turns back, and sees Steve’s eyes, shock and pain rolling through his mind too. Steve’s lost a brother too, in his time. Bucky was a brother to Steve, and yet, Bucky came back from the dead.

Sam’s eyes are stunned too. She meets his gaze, and she feels his pain. It’s like he’s back up there, watching, unable to help as Riley falls to his death. This is like losing Riley for him. All over again.

_ Barney is gone.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO? How did you like it?
> 
> Would it help if I told you that this ending broke my heart entirely? I'm so heartbroken about this. Killing off Barney... I feel so mad at myself, but at the same time not really. 
> 
> Tell me your reactions in the comments! Yell at me! Do it!


	11. The Prestige - Phase III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the loss of a brother, there isn't much left to salvage. But, what happens when life decides to claim another? Is it just a game, to remind everyone of their short presence here? Clint has lost so much already. Will he make it out if he loses more than what he already has? And will the New Avengers manage to help him out when he needs them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT SORRY FOR THE DELAY. Lots of sads coming up this way too.
> 
> Trigger warnings include another character death, and hospital settings. Be warned!

“I’m not going to hand them over to you.”

“Director Fury, I must insist. These criminals have no place in the Raft. They are no match for superpowered individuals, they don’t need to be held like that,” General Ross states, as he shakes his head. “They need to be prosecuted within the law and they deserve to be given a chance to redeem themselves.”

Nick snorts. “Really? Are you even listening to the bullshit you’re giving me right now?” He pauses, before he gives Ross a hardened look. “These criminals have been cheating the law for two decades, and they have just led a campaign to try and kill one of my Avenger-”

“About that, I want to discuss this case with you. I’ve been following quite closely, this little dance with you and your New Avengers, battling this Circus of Crime,” Ross starts as he goes to the back of the room and pulls his suitcase open, pulling out a file. He goes to the table and pulls out the chair before he speaks, Nick refusing to move as he does so. 

“You apprehended the Circus of Crime, but somehow allowed this Ronin clown to escape. Care to explain to me what that was about?” Ross asks, handing Fury a file, stamped with the US Military seal on it.

Nick sighs heavily as he takes the file, and opens it. It’s got pictures of Ronin from security files, pictures taken in the Beaverbrook Art Gallery where Duquesne had beheaded Petit, and other information on weapons and tactics.

“What can I say, this guy’s a sneaky bastard.”

“Spare me the politics, Fury, we both know that if SHIELD wants someone, they get them,” Ross then spits, and looks up at Fury, with one of those ‘if looks could kill’ expressions. “Why’d you let him go?” he asks, again, as he looks down at his hands, ignoring Fury now.

“I told you, General, he showed up out of nowhere in January, and he disappeared back into the void right after we got the Circus of Crime,” Nick spits, and hands the file back to Ross. “Now get out of here.”

“I actually just came to say that the paperwork has been filled,” Ross says, and Fury’s eye opens in shock.

“Who did you clear this with?” he asks, but Ross just shrugs.

“Details.”

He stands up again, and takes the file on Ronin under his arm before he watches Fury.

“They’ll be sent to Barrow, in Alaska, I could use some skilled men to guard Abomination,” Ross snickers and Fury shakes his head.

“They need to go to the Raft. If you send them away, they’ll slip through your fingers,” Fury growls, but Ross just wets his lips as he watches him. Fury isn’t done. “Every single time the US Military has tried to take over from SHIELD investigations, things have gone to hell, and you know that perfectly well-”

“Peace of our time,” Ross replies, and Nick feels like he’s just been punched in the gut. That’s something Tony says. It’s Tony’s line. The very line that Ultron clung to like a leech and tried to finalize with his master plan. 

But, General Ross walks out of there and there’s nothing Nick can do to stop him. When he tries to move the Circus of Crime again, out of the holding cells they’d put them, he finds it empty. The US Army had moved ahead of them, probably betrayed by an insider. 

* * *

It’s cold, down here. So cold.

He hasn’t left though. He’s been sitting down there for hours, now, and Natasha’s worried about him. She’s come and gone, brought her coffee, to at least warm him a little bit, but whenever she comes with a new one, the old one sits untouched on the table where she left it. Cold. 

This time, as she walks in with another paper cup, steaming hot coffee in it, she hands it to Clint. She stands in front of him, forcing him to look up at her. His eyes are hollow. She can’t remember the last time she saw him like this - after Loki, perhaps. Or thereabout, anyway.

“Clint,” she says, as she hands him the coffee cup. He looks at her, and she sees the glossiness on his eyes, and her heart hurts. It hurts so much because she knows that this isn’t something she can help with. He extends her hand and takes the coffee, but doesn’t bring it to his lips. Natasha thinks it’s a small victory for him to having taken it at least. “You gotta talk to me,” she adds, but he looks down, gazing into the nothingness in front of him.

She watches him, his fingers are white, and his back is tense - he’s probably freezing from staying down here too long.

“What am I supposed to say?” he then suddenly blurts out, as he grimaces, the hot cup burning his ice cold fingers. He looks up at her, then his gaze moves over to the body on the metallic table. A white sheet covers his face. Nobody has come or gone since he was declared dead, hours ago. “Barney’s dead, Nat.”

He closes his eyes, as if saying it out loud hurts as much as it did when he watched him die. She watches him. He changed into some civilian clothing, leaving the Ronin suit a bundled mess on the floor of his room. She’d cleaned it up, put it away in the duffel that she knew he kept it in. Clint puts down the cup on the floor and starts scratching his hand.

“Don’t, Clint,” she barks, as she takes one of his hand hostage in her own grip. His leg is bouncing up and down, and she doesn’t know if it’s because he needs to go to the toilet or if it’s because he’s still seething with anger. Or perhaps agony would be more appropriate. “This wasn’t your fault,” she continues, and Clint lets out a huff. “He accepted this when he decided to come and help you out. He chose this, and he knew the risks. You can’t protect everyone, least of all your older brother,” she smiles at that, but continues, “he accepted it, in the end.”

Clint moves slightly to the side, pulling his hand free of Natasha’s grip, but it also causes him to knock over the coffee cup. “Shit,” he mutters, as he stands up and goes to grab something, anything to clean it up, frantically starting to look through cupboards, while Natasha watches him do it. She’s seen him go through grief and through loss before, but not like this. Her eyes fall on the body on the table, and she lets out a sigh, before pushing herself up and joining him in his search for something to clean up the stain on the floor.

He finds a towel and comes over, kneeling around the coffee. She moves her hand over to help him, but he smacks it away. “Don’t, please, Nat, I gotta-” he stops, and he takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking. “I gotta make sure- I have to-”

“I know, Clint.”

“I have to- there’s-” he pauses, as he gives in trying to stay on his knees and falls back onto his ass as he watches her. She finishes cleaning up the coffee with the towel. “I have to- to figure out how you get a spot at the graveyard next to my parents and- and, what should be on his stone and I don’t, Nat, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can, Clint,” she interrupts. “You will give him this, and you will move on. You lost your brother, Clint. Of course you’re shaken and everything feels like your world is crumbling. Barney died to protect you, to protect Laura, to protect your kids, alright?” she says, as his chin rests on his chest and he feels the tears well up in his eyes. “Barney was always there to protect you, no matter how shitty life became for you. He was never going to be at rest until the threats against you ended, and those have been taken care of now.”

He looks up again, the crinkles near his eyes wet as the tears still refuse to slowly make it down his cheeks.

Clint finally decides to push himself up to a standing position, and as Natasha picks up the empty coffee cup and the towel, throwing both in one of the bigger bins used for one time, he walks over to the table.

The autopsy had confirmed it, Barney had been killed by a combination of Black Mamba and King Cobra venom, and even if they had gotten him to a hospital, the combination of the two poisons would have worked too fast for any anti-venom to work. He’d been doomed the minute that the snakes had bitten him. 

Pulling the sheet off his face, Clint lets out a sound, from the back of his throat. It looks like he’s sleeping. He looks so serene, at peace. “I’m sorry, Barney,” Clint says, before bending forward and putting a kiss on Barney’s forehead. It’s cold, and it feels wrong, Clint knows this, but it doesn’t stop him from doing it. He pulls the sheet back over Barney’s head, and looks up at Natasha.

“Time to go back to your family,” she says and he nods, turning his back at Barney’s body. He doesn’t want to leave, he doesn’t want to go back to his kids and tell them that Uncle Barney isn’t going to make it there anymore because he went away and he’s probably never going to come back. 

But he has to. Because he has no other choice.

* * *

It’s a long time since Nick has seen Clint like this. The fire that burnt within Clint’s soul during his entire hunt for the Circus of Crime has gone out, leaving his eyes grey and sad.

He knows that, if poked at with a stick, Clint would break down - rage, seething through his entire body, at the loss of his brother. But not right now. Now, his eyes are veiled and unfocused. Like he doesn’t want to listen in on the conversation he’s been a part of for the past half hour. Debriefing. 

It wasn’t technically a SHIELD mission, but Nick decided to debrief anyway. Too many players, too many risks, knowing that Clint had managed to trick the New Avengers. But then again, Nick knew that Clint was one of the greatest con-men he had ever met - if not because of his ability to forge documents, but because of the sheer will he exerted when he went undercover or decided to do things his way. 

(It had come as a half surprise when Clint had managed to help Loki as much as he did. Nick knew that Clint was incredibly clever, but he played the idiot so damn well that even he got tangled up in it every now and then. When Loki had taken Clint, and Nick had seen the damage Clint had done to them, to others, to everyone, he had wondered: what would have happened if Clint had decided to go rogue?)

“Barton.”

Clint looks up again, and his gaze focuses on Nick. “Sorry,” he mutters, and Nick shakes his head.

“Not a problem.” He pauses, as he looks at Clint. He looks so older than he did right before New York. He knows it’s been four years, but it looks like he’s suddenly aged a decade - it’s the look in his eyes. After the brainwashing, the fall of SHIELD, and then Ultron - it had taken a toll on Clint, and he wasn’t sure how long his agent would be able to keep up. Nick’s well above 65 years old, and even though he went through hell with the fall of SHIELD, he became Director of SHIELD when he was about Clint’s age. And that meant, a lot less missions and field injuries. 

Clint looks tired, spread out. He’s pretty sure that he’s lost some weight too, notwithstanding the injuries he suffered at the hands of Ronin. He wondered, still, who exactly had doubled as Ronin when Clint was elsewhere. Different theories fluttered in Nick’s mind - Barney? It seemed likely, but then again, there was always something about the older Barton brother that made him doubt. 

Laura, perhaps? With the black and yellow suit, it was possible, and she’d been a technical KO from the beginning. But he’d seen her medical results, she had been down with mono… So, unless she was a super-soldier, she wouldn’t have been able to do it. Not that he didn’t think Laura was unable to surprise them - the first time that he’d come unannounced at the farm she’d almost killed him with a knife cutting it too close to his throat for his own taste.

The idea that Natasha had also doubled as Ronin had crossed Nick’s mind, but she hadn’t trusted him with the truth. Probably because she had promised Clint not to tell, and Nick accepted and respected that decision. 

“We can finish this later,” Nick says and Clint’s lips part slightly, in a smile that lasts for less than a second. “Before you leave though, there’s someone here who wants to offer their condolences.” 

The creases on Clint’s forehead betray his surprise, and as he stands up and turns around to look at the door, he doesn’t expect Hank Pym to walk through it. Clint stops short in his movement, and looks at him. Hank’s one arm is in a sling, and even though he looks like himself, Clint can barely recognize him. Is this the one that the olden days SHIELD kept on about? 

“Agent Barton,” Hank begins, and Clint looks everywhere around but at the man in front of him. Nick remembers how they parted ways - Clint had just joined SHIELD, had just agreed to put his past as a carnie criminal behind. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” he finishes and Clint’s eyes flutter again.

He meets Fury’s gaze, who motions to him to focus on Hank. “Thank you,” Clint replies, and finally takes Hank’s extended hand. They shake, and then Hank smiles weakly at him.

“You’ve changed a lot,” Hank states, to what Clint laughs. “You and Nick are the only part of the original SHIELD left,” Hank continues, as he looks down at the cane he’s using to balance correctly with. “I can’t say that I could have helped in any way when HYDRA revealed themselves, but I would have liked to try.” He pauses, and looks at Fury.

Nick remembers the bruise that Clint had come home with after trying to get Hank back, once upon a time, after Hank had resigned from his job at SHIELD. They had never gotten along too well, but in maturing, both of them could, eventually, come to realize that they would get along better than they ever thought they would.

“You’ve already heard that Hank’s found someone to be the Ant-Man in his place,” Nick states and Clint nods, unsure of what to say. “Scott Lang.”

Clint shrugs, his shoulders lifting, not really caring for what’s being said right now. He doesn’t feel at ease, wants to leave, Nick realizes. However, Clint speaks next. “I heard what happened in San Francisco,” he says, quietly. It had been all over the news, so Nick isn’t particularly surprised. “Also heard that you stole something from us in the process of finding that new Ant-Man,” he adds, through gritted teeth. Hank smiles as he looks down again, playing with his cane as he tries to find his words. 

Hank’s reply sends chills down Clint’s spine. “Yeah, well, we had to, or Darren would have sold the Yellowjacket to military contractors around the world, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation today.”

“Right after Tony Stark had escaped from the Nine Rings in that huge suit, Obadiah Stane came to me,” Clint says, casually and both Hank and Nick turn their attention to him. “I’d just come back from investigating the Falcon project,” he says, looking at Nick who nods at him to go on, “he mentioned the Yellowjacket.”

“After Darren Cross pushed me out of Pym Tech’s board, he did go to Stark for help,” Hank concedes, but doesn’t let go. “But, of all people, you should know that the one with the best piece of technology wins,” he adds, and Clint gazes over at Fury. He really doesn’t want to be there, and this is a panicky look - he’s on the verge of turning and running. Maybe bringing Hank here right now was a mistake?

Clint had just lost his brother, what did he expect? But then, Hank’s dialogue changes immediately. “Look, Clint, I’m sad to hear what happened with your brother.” He pauses, and sighs. “Nick asked me to come out today to discuss returning my technology to SHIELD, and I only accepted to fly out from San Francisco with this,” he motions to his arm, “is because I wanted to see you.” He pauses, before speaking again. “I know we never got along, but that’s mostly on me and my temper. Nick can vouch for that, and I’ll apologize if it’s what you want. But I want to let you know that the loss - the pain of losing someone in a fight? You learn to live with it.” 

Clint snorts. “I don’t need a lesson in mourning from you. I know how to deal with this pain,” he says, as he moves away, turns slightly to the side, refusing to face either of the men in front of him. “I just want to take my brother back with me, and bury him with respect. I don’t care why you’re here, or what you want to say. Please, just leave me alone. I need to go back home,” he finally finishes with, as he nods to Nick.

They both watch him leave, and Nick lets out a long sigh. He rubs his one eye, as he turns to Hank. “Told you he wouldn’t want to listen to you,” he says, and Hank laughs.

“Well, I’m glad that he made it clear. But, Director, I need to talk to you about the Ant-Man.”

* * *

The bar is brand new. It smells new, at least. It’s not the first time that Clint’s visited this specific place of Hell’s Kitchen, but he knows that there was an explosion here not too long ago. But, the bar is back up and running.

He used to come here, back in the day, when he still had that apartment in New York. Back when he fought tracksuit draculas. He’s been sitting there, for a while. He’d left Fury and Pym to their discussions, had gone. So that he could go back to the farm. Go back to bury his brother in peace. But first, there were some things that he needed to do.

The little bell above the door rings, and he looks to the left. The man behind the counter looks up too, but they’ve known each other long enough to know. No trouble here, or he’d be thrown out. There she is. He’s known her for a very long time, but he still smiles when he sees her. She looks like herself, a bit older than the last time they met. She’s the sort of strong woman who makes head turn, not because of her beauty, but because of the way she holds herself. Proud, strong. Clint sometimes wishes that they were closer than what they’ve become, but it might be better this way - after all, they both know that it’s best for them to not see each other too often. Might end in a fistfight if they don’t keep it to the courtesy visits.

She greets him with his name sign, and he reciprocates the gesture. Inviting her to sit down, he motions to the bartender- Luke, his name is Luke - to give her the same thing that he’s having. She smiles at him. “You look good, considering all that’s happened these last months.”

Her signing is flawless, and even though Clint knows sign language too, he’s still amazed at how her expression and her body language relies on her hands so much. He smiles back, as he replies in the same manner - a bit slower, but only because he hasn’t signed in a long, long time. It’s like his fingers remember the words before his brain does, and even though he looks confused at first, he manages to get the words to dance in front of him pretty easily. “Can’t blame me for trying to make things easier, but it was necessary.” He pauses, as Luke comes over with her drink.

He mutters a thanks to him, and resumes his phrase, undisturbed, in silence. “They were threatening my family. Saved most of it, but I lost Barney in the process,” he says, and her face falls. He sees it in her eyes, the way that her smile drops too - her hand goes for his, and he knows this will help any more than Pym’s condolences ever will. She knew Barney. She’d met him before. Clint, Barney, Maya. They’d been a team at one point. But now?

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She looks at him, her eyes steady and knowing. He sighs, looks away for a couple of seconds, and she moves her head to the side to get his attention again. “How did it happen?”

“Snake venom,” he answers. “Circus of Crime, snakes… It’s a long story,” he goes on, and moves his glass out of the way. He bends forward and pulls up a duffel bag onto the counter. Maya looks at him, a questioning look on her face, but she doesn’t say anything until he does. 

“Ronin protected them.” He pauses, as he pushes the duffel towards her. It’s one of those inconspicuous Adidas duffel bags that tracksuit draculas would use. She nods, understands what this means, as she looks at him. He goes on. “This wasn’t Avengers related business, it was- personal. Close. I needed the revenge and the wrath of Ronin for this to work.”

She pulls one of the zippers open, and looks at the contents of the bag. The Ronin costume is neatly folded, the mask lying on top. Her hand goes down to touch the fabric, and as she gazes up from the bag again, she sees Clint is watching her intently. “I’m done with him,” he says. Flatly. Emotionless. She smiles, almost laughs at it, because she knows. The laugh sits on the verge of her lips, too shy to come out, but she’s amused that he’s doing this.  He doesn’t have to say what this is, but she knows. 

“You’re only handing me one suit,” she comments, and Clint nods. His lips almost part in a smile too, and if she didn’t know better, she can see his cheeks flush slightly, as if he’s been caught red handed, but he dismisses it. 

“I know.” 

“So, what are you going to do now?” she asks, and Clint makes a clicking noise along with a grimace. He watches her, before looking at his fingers. He honestly doesn’t know. There’s a war brewing, he thinks, as he looks up at the corner of the bar, where there used to be a television. He can still remember the debates he saw on television, led by Everheart and Stark, the fights between the good and the bad. Except there were no good things, no bad things. Just things. He put his hand on the back of his neck, scratches it. 

“I guess I’ll go back home,” he finally says, a twinkle in his eyes. She doesn’t know about the exact details about his family, but she knows there is at least a wife somewhere. So, when he said family earlier, she probably got the hint that there was more than that to it. “Take a break from being an Avenger. Bury my brother next to my parents, give him the goodbyes he deserved.” His face breaks the facade that he’s been keeping for a second, and the deep, rooted sadness that he’s been hiding breaks through again. 

“I’ve seen what you’ve been up to,” she starts, “you and your friends. New York, Sokovia… Been a busy team, lately,” she adds, motioning to the city around her. “Heroes have been popping up here and there, and some less heroic people too.” 

Clint nods. “I heard about Fisk and the stunts he pulled. Also heard about the Devil that’s been plaguing the city,” he continues, before he picks up the bottle, and takes a chug at it. Putting it down on the counter, as Maya takes the duffel and puts it under her chair, he continues as soon as she’s looking at him again. “And about that Kilgrave guy, too.” He shakes his head. “Mind control sucks, and I wouldn’t wish it on any other person in the entire world.”

She purses her lips, half amused. “You’re cute. Always trying to see the good things in the world.”

He interrupts her by grabbing his hand again. “Well, someone’s gotta,” he shrugs, and she laughs. It’s a quiet laugh, the kind that she only keeps for friends. That friendship goes back a long time, and he barely remembers the details of how they met. It doesn’t matter. He’s missed talking to her, though. 

“I’ll take this with me, then, Hawkeye,” she says, as she kicks herself off the chair. Clint follows with the same movement immediately and when she leans forward to hug him, he doesn’t hesitate. They’ve known each other long enough to be familiar enough. He feels her press herself closer, and he realizes how good it feels. To get a hug. He’s missed getting hugs - these days, it’s just his kids giving him Daddy hugs. But a real hug, from someone who understands the pain? There was only Barney to do that. 

When she lets go, he puts his hand on her shoulder. There is no need for speaking, no need for anything else. In that moment, it’s just them. Their story embedded in their bones. When she gives him the tiniest salute by a nod of her head, he responds by standing straighter, reciprocating the nod. She picks up the duffel bag and leaves the bar. 

Clint watches her go. He stands there, mesmerized, as he takes a deep breath. Maya Lopez was one of life’s great mysteries, but he was equally proud to call her a friend. He looks down at the spot where the duffel had lied, and he smiles. The memory of Nathaniel pulling it open bursts back, and he chuckles to himself. His head whips back as he gives the bar a one over. He hadn’t brushed up on the details, but something had exploded here. He didn’t need to know what, he had his suspicions. 

As he sits back down onto the high chair, the waiter comes back around. “Need a refill?” he asks, and Clint smirks. 

“You know what? Actually I do,” he answers, and crosses his feet on the stool he’s just sat down on. 

* * *

It’s the third time that the phone has rung. Clint hasn’t answered it since, because for today, he just can’t deal with anything anymore. Nathaniel is sitting in his lap, playing with his teething ring - courtesy of Wanda. He hasn’t felt so at home for a very long time, and the fact that the phone hasn’t stopped ringing for the entire day just makes it harder to let go.

“Hi, Laura here,” Laura says as she picks up the phone, much to Clint’s surprise. He turns around, as much as he can with a baby on his lap, and shakes his head, making a very clear ‘No, don’t!’ gesture at her, but when her face drops, he stops shorts, and picks up Nathaniel as he gets up himself. “Yeah, just a second, I’ll put him on.”

“This is Clint,” he replies into the phone as he hands a whining Nathaniel to his mother. He moves out of the way for her, into the kitchen area and settles against the sink as the voice at the other end of the line gives him the information again. 

“It’s about Buck Chisholm, sir, he’s been very unstable lately, and the signs aren’t good,” she says, and he realizes what this means.

“What? No. He was fine the last tim-”

“We know, but in his condition, it’s difficult to say what caused it. It’s metastasized, and his body can’t hold up with the cells- I’m sorry, but the doctors don’t think that he’ll make it through the week.”

No. The first thing that comes through Clint’s mind is a big, bolded no, that shatters his head. He looks over at Laura, who glances up to look at him again, and she nods. “How- how long?” he asks, and hears a sigh.

“Two days, maybe less. You should come, prepare things…” She trails off, and he knows what she means only too well. He rubs his forehead with his free head, then shakes his head, as if it’s going to help. He’s already knees deep into burial preparations for Barney, he can’t- he doesn’t- no. 

“Alright, I’ll make it there tomorrow.” The reply is final. He’s just barely made it home, picking up Laura from the safehouse, bringing the kids back to school with an explanation of a surprise holiday party (they hadn’t missed much), and he needed to take care of everything else. But not this. Not now. He’s got too many things to take care of, he doesn’t- he can’t-

“We’ll be expecting you.” 

The line clicks dead almost immediately, and the tone rings in his ear like a bad echo. He puts the phone back on its charger stand and walks over to Laura, who sits Nathaniel down on the couch. He makes a chirping noise when he touches the sofa, but Clint doesn’t care. Laura puts her arms around his chest and kisses him. It’s been so long since she’d kissed him, properly, a tender kiss, gentle one. They hadn’t known if Clint had had mono when he was a kid, so they’d gone under the assumption that he hadn’t, and that had meant no kisses.  _ For three months _ . Their noses beep together when their lips touch, and the tenderness Laura puts into it feels so heartwrenching. 

“I’ll go with you,” she says, when they finally part. They hear the rustling of Nathaniel’s ring as he bangs it repeatedly into the sofa, and Clint makes a sad smile at his son. Laura watches her youngest play around, as her hand makes its way down to the scar tissue that Helen Cho printed onto her husband.  “We can ask my sister to look after the kids while we’re gone, she’s in Chicago, she can make it here by morning if she gets in a car right now.”

He shakes his head, even though the sadness is back on his eyes. He can’t help it - it’s been a thing for so long, having Buck up in Canada, taking care of him and visiting him… He’d become a part of his family without Clint had realized it, and this phone call? It had taken the life out of him. Like he’d been stabbed all over again. He lets her go and looks over at the stairs, like he’s looking up at the kids’ bedrooms. Lila had missed him, and she’d been worried - because Cooper had showed her the news footage on the iPad he used to play his games with, and she was starting to understand what her father did for a living. 

“I can’t-” he finally lets out, and Laura puts her hands on his cheeks, cupping his face and forcing him to look at her. 

“Yes you can. You’re going to. I’ll call her, and we’re going to make it there by tomorrow morning. You have to say goodbye to him,” she says, wanting to add that he didn’t get to say goodbye to Barney, but she knows that it doesn’t matter. 

Clint chuckles, as he moves away from her, going nowhere, trying to find something to do. Probably pack a bag with the basic travel needs. Paperwork. Fake ID to take care of- well. To take care of everything. “You know how she is with kids,” he deadpans, and she scoffs at him. 

“Clint Barton, how dare you! She’s your sister-in-law! And, if you hadn’t noticed, the kids love her,” she replies, picking up Nathaniel again, who has drooled on the teething ring and wet the entire front of his shirt in doing so. Clint finally goes for the kitchen, pulling out the small bottle of infant paracetamol, and the syringe coming with it. Laura joins him there, quietly rocking Nathaniel as his eyes close. He hasn’t been crying so much lately, but his teething has still kept them awake. He’s inconsistent with his feedings, and bites on Laura’s breast, which hurts her too.

“There’s so much that has happened lately,” Clint finally says, and Laura sits Nathaniel down on the counter of the kitchen. Filling the syringe with the purple, strawberry smelling medicine, Clint sighs, as he looks at his son. He’s still teething, but he’s got that look - he doesn’t mind taking the medicine, it tastes sugary. In the beginning, they had a lot of trouble of getting Nathaniel to accept the syringe, but in the end, he almost started asking for it. (That’s what you get when you put in the strawberry flavor). “Between this and Barney- the others- I don’t think I can handle it,” he mutters, as he pushes the pink liquid into Nathaniel’s mouth slowly.

Laura keeps stroking Nathaniel’s head as he does so, and looks up at Clint, an apologetic smile on her lips. “You can handle it,” she says, when he dismantles the syringe and puts it under the running water. She picks up Nathaniel again and turns around, leaning on the counter as she does so.

“You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met, and that’s why I married you. When you came to the circus, dragged there by Buck, I thought you were the stupidest little moron I had ever seen. And then, you showed me just how strong you were. You were a 16 year old kid, didn’t know anything about the world, other than you wanted to save everybody.” She nudges at him, while Nathaniel puts out the teething ring again, handing it to his father.

Clint picks it up, and cleans it under the running water before putting it away. “And you, you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen,” he replies, as he bends forward to kiss her, a fleeting kiss on her lips. She smiles. 

“Yeah right, your face was so bruised and battered, I doubt you actually saw me properly until the swelling subsided,” she laughs, Nathaniel imitating the sound, looking at his dad. 

“Nate, don’t you dare mock your daddy,” Clint threatens, while Laura rolls her eyes. 

“I’ll call my sister, let her know to get here before we leave tomorrow morning,” she says, and puts Nathaniel down on the floor. He instinctively puts one of his hands up again, which Clint takes, and they both, very slowly, walk to the stairs. Nathaniel’s been able to walk a fair distance now, with something to hold onto, and Clint thinks the way his small legs wobble is the most adorable thing in the world. 

(He’d seen both Cooper and Lila do it, but he hadn’t been home as much as he has been with Nathaniel, and it honestly is a good change of pace in his life).

* * *

“Any news?”

Sam hasn’t seen Steve like this before. He looks so defeated. There’s sadness there, and a certain sense of responsibility. He remembers Steve mentioning the death of Pietro, and how it had been his responsibility to get the kid through the Battle safely. Sam knows that both Clint and Steve feel equally responsible for what Pietro did, and that there’s the ever elusive survivor’s guilt plaguing them.

It’s the same look that Steve is wearing. Sam knows that it’s because of Barney though. He’d walked in on Steve, three days after they’d taken in the Circus of Crime, tearing down the intricate web he’d created on Barney and the Circus of Crime. It had been a mess on the floor, red yarn and pictures, articles, print outs… Such a huge mess. He’d intervened, at the time, to try and tell Steve that it wasn’t his fault. Cobra venom kills within 15 minutes. It was a miracle Barney survived for as long as he did.

Steve smiles at him this time, though. It’s a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Not much,” he mutters. 

Walking through the door, Sam puts down a sandwich in front of Steve, before grabbing a chair and sitting down, a sandwich of his own in his hand. “Tell me,” he says, as he bites into the sandwich. 

Fury had told them General Ross had intervened and taken the Circus of Crime for himself, for some obscure reason he needed them in his grand scheme and there had been nothing to do. Christine Everhart had been lurking somewhere, and she knew way too much about all of them for the Avengers to suffer another Media ShitStorm, as sponsored by Ultron himself. 

“Security footage at the Smithsonian shows that he was there.” Pause. Steve rubs his eyes, before reaching for the sandwich. “He went to see the exhibit that they’ve got on me, spent about three hours there. Nobody noticed it was him, except until SHIELD ran the facial recognition process on the footage.”

Catching a tomato on its way out of the sandwich, Sam speaks with his mouth full. “How long ago was that?”

“Right after we put the helicarriers into the Potomac, so a while ago. It’s just- he’s looking for his memories. He remembered me, in the end, and I’m pretty sure that he’s the one who got me out of the water that day too.” Steve looks down at the sandwich, resigning himself. Sam nods at him. When was the last time that Steve had had proper food? He wasn’t sure, but this discussion wasn’t ending until Steve had made it through the entire sandwich. 

“I feel bad for delegating the searching to you, Sam,” Steve finallys says with a sigh. “You were taking care of it when I was off Avenging, and then all of this mess with Ronin happened, and I haven’t spent a single day afraid that if I’d just spent more time looking for h-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Steve. I told you before, and I’m telling you again: I’m more than happy to do all the searching for you. You’re an American legend, you’ve got to lead the Avengers into battle. I mean, there’s comic books with you in them. Bucky’s a ghost story, just like you said in the beginning, and now that we know he’s real, we can find him. It’s best this way too, because it means that he thinks you’re busy with everything else when you’ve got people looking for him. I mean even Barney Barton himself knows about him and he knew where he was when we didn’t, so I guess there’s that.”

Steve chuckles at the last comment, avoiding Sam’s gaze before he speaks. “Yeah, and now Barney’s dead.”

It feels like a kick in the stomach, but Sam resigns himself to keep the cheer in his voice. 

“Steve, you gotta keep going man. We’re going to find Bucky before the others do, and that means that we have to keep on looking. We know that Barney knew about his whereabouts, probably from some pieces of scratch information he got from some wacko he met somewhere in a back alley. That’s leads, alright? Anything we find, anything we do, it’s all leading to finding the Winter Soldier.” He pauses, looking to the side again, to where the huge intricate wallmap had been - with all of Barney’s links to criminal organisations and other syndicates. “We got enough intel on Barney, maybe we can use his footprints to recreate the steps of the Winter Soldier. What’s the last thing you know about him?”

“He was in New Brunswick right before or after we were there,” Steve sighs. “Don’t know how or why, but he was up there. I got a feeling that he was looking for me, would know that I’d go up there with Barton.” 

“Guess we were wrong about a lot of things, huh?” Sam tries, and the sad smile that appears on Steve’s lips makes him lose the cheery tone. “But hey, that means that he’s gotta be on his own. I say we pull all the intel we know on him and cross reference with anything we know about secret organisations. Maybe something’ll pop up, and we’ll finally get a hint at where he’s been staying low.”

Steve nods, and looks at the food in his hands again, taking a bite. The silence falls on both of them as they eat, but then Sam interrupts it again. “Clint give you any word on when the funeral will be?” 

Shaking his head, Steve swallows the food in his mouth before speaking. “Last I heard he was heading back to Toronto to visit Chisholm. Didn’t get any details, Nat said that it was urgent.”

The two men exchange a glance, knowing, but continue eating their food in silence. It’s best this way. They both knew that Clint had lost so much lately - more than they’d possibly imagine.

* * *

It’s like last time. Except, it’s not. 

Instead of sitting his wheelchair, Buck’s lying on his hospital bed. The tubes that bring the air right up into his nose seem to be poking at places they shouldn’t, and there is more noise than last time. The drip making its way into Buck’s arm seems to be the only thing holding him alive. He looks so pale. So old.  _ So sick _ .

Laura’s sitting on one of the stools that have been there for as long as Clint remembers, Nathaniel on her lap. The young kid doesn’t understand what’s going on just yet, as he plays with his mother a game of peek-a-boo. 

“Sorry kiddo,” Buck heaves, as Clint looks up at him, this time. They’ve been there for about twenty minutes, but Buck needs time to rest almost every time he speaks. It doesn’t bother Clint at all. Better this than having made it here and- 

“It’s fine,” he assures, and Buck’s lips turn slightly upwards as he wants to grin. Clint’s holding Buck’s hand, and it feels so little and so fragile. Buck isn’t so much older than him, in his early seventies, but he looks so defeated. Almost like he’s already gone. “It’s alright, you don’t have to apologize.”

Clint’s angry, but there’s nothing to do. Sometimes, nature finds its own way - even if it makes him even angrier. Buck had always been the fatherly figure he’d looked up to most. Buck Chisholm, Trickshot, had been the one to put a bow in Clint’s hand, all those many years ago, and he’d been the one to make sure Clint never missed.

In the rain, in the snow, in sunlight, day in and day out. Buck had stood behind Clint, making sure that his bow arm was high enough, strong enough, steady enough to carry the weight of the arrow, good enough to pull back the string. He’d been there to force Clint to use his other arm, even though Clint had whined and cried and screamed about the fact that he only needed to know how to shoot with one arm. The audience wouldn’t care if he was ambidextrous, he’d said. Buck had pulled the bow out of his hand and hit him with it, forcing Clint to try.

“Didja get ‘em?” Buck huffs, his voice as low as a growl. Clint knows he means the Circus of Crime. Knows that he means Jacques and all the others. 

“I did,” he mutters, a faint smile coming onto his face when Buck nods. It’s not pride, it’s more than that - Barney was his real family, but this? This almost feels like a father. Buck had given Clint the means and tools to become the man he was today, and Clint would forever be grateful for it. “Got them in cuffs and all,” he adds, as he looks up, feeling the tears welling up again. His bites his lower lip, forcing himself to keep a straight face. He hasn’t told Buck about Barney.

He doesn’t need to know, he thinks. So he doesn’t mention him. 

“Turned you into a good man,” Buck coughs, and Laura looks up. Nathaniel’s busy munchin on the toy they’d brought - a Bucky bear that someone had gotten them. She smiles, even though Buck can’t see her. He’s been lying down like this since they came, weak as ever. The repetitive beeping of the heart monitor keeps them company, even though it feels as if it’s counting down. 

“Yeah, you did,” Clint adds, as he takes Buck’s hand again. The monitor measuring Buck’s heartbeat is attached to his index finger, and Clint wants to rip it off. It hurts so much seeing his old mentor like this. He used to be so strong - he used to inspire so much fear in Clint, fear and respect. In retrospect, Clint always understood why Buck did all that he did. Not that he found any excuses to it, and he would never have told him that it was alright to beat him up the way he did, but in learning Clint how to use the perfect aim he’d been born with, he had given him his greatest gift.

Buck had once told Clint that if he hadn’t gone out of school, he’d have become a mathematical genius. The fact was, that Clint’s accurate ability meant that he was always ahead of everything. Helen Cho had teased him too, when he’d been lying on the Cradle, about how he always knew more than what he showed. 

Closing his eyes, Buck squeezed Clint’s hand. Looking over at the monitor, Clint felt his eyes water. He felt the tears come, and the inevitable pain that came with crying going through his sinuses, and soon, his peripheral vision blurred. He held the tears as the beeps slowed down. Half a second more between each of them, and then more and more. 

In a sudden memory, Clint stood up from the chair to look at Buck. “I’ll miss you,” he mutters, his lips wet and clinging together as he blinks. His throat feels dry, as he tries to breathe in the steady declining notes of the heart rate monitor. He doesn’t look up, but he knows Laura’s gotten up, carrying Nathaniel against her hip. 

When the monitor quietly tunes into a never ending beep, Clint closes his eyes. The tears that have made their way there, fall out onto his cheeks, making their way down, as a nurse comes into the room. He lets go of Buck’s hand, looks over at Laura, whose face is wet with tears too, looks at Nathaniel who can’t look away from Buck. He moves over to them, embraces them as Nathaniel hands him the Bucky bear. Laura’s kiss tastes of salt and water, and he doesn’t know if it’s his own tears or hers that he tastes, but he feels the sadness making its way through his heart like a dagger.

Everything tunes out. Someone announces a time of death, as he stands there, embracing his family. His chest feels tight, his lungs can’t seem to find the air they need to function. He looks up from Laura’s face again, looks over at the nurses working with Buck, and he closes his eyes again. 

“Mister Martinelli?” a young voice calls, and as he opens his eyes, he recognizes the nurse who called them to inform that Buck was dying. He nods. “If you wouldn’t mind-” she says, and he nods, Laura turning away, her face closed, as Nathaniel cradles his plushie. 

Leaving Buck’s room feels like letting go. Letting go of something that he didn’t know he was holding, and Clint moves forward to kiss Laura again, a tender, deeply sad kiss, that she understands. She too, knew Buck, back in the day. She too, came from the world of circuses and freaks. She too, had seen Buck in action and had grown to love him, like a grandfather or an uncle. Or both. 

Their foreheads touch, and for a moment, time stands still. He can’t breathe, she doesn’t seem to let go. Everything inside of him is bursting, and the pain of losing so much in such a short time resonates within him, making every single cell of his body and soul ache. It’s a pain that embeds itself deep in his bones, and just like that, he realizes that he feels the pain of losing a parent for the first time. He remembers losing his real parents, he remembers the pain and the confusion of losing his mother and his father. He remembers their funeral, seeing them lowered to the ground, pushed away by a distant relative that did not want anything to do with him or Barney.

But this? This, affection and an ongoing relationship, it’s real and it hurts oh so much.

* * *

He looks into his eyes. Clint hasn’t taken a good look at the man in the mirror in such a long time, avoiding mirrors like the plague, afraid that they’d show him something he didn’t like. 

His eyes are puffy, red and sore. He blinks too much, but he can’t seem to stop the pain in his chest, and he can’t seem to find the closure he needs. The tears have stopped, only because he has no more to spare. He sees himself, and he sees so many things.

Laura’s gone out with Nathaniel, allowing him the first few hours’ peace to mourn Buck before the entire world reminds him that someone dying is more than just that. The paperwork, the transfers, the legal documents, all that- all that mess? He’s just gone through it all for Barney. He’s just done all of it for Barney, and the idea of going through it all, once again, for Buck hurts Clint in a way that he had never imagined. 

He’s spent the last hour and a half in the bathroom. The steam from the hot shower he took is still condensing on the glass walls of the shower. He’s wiped the mirror with the palm of his hand to find his own face staring back, and he wonders. How did this happen? How did his life turn so drastically?

He can’t help but think back to five years ago. Just those small five years. There were no gods, no monsters, no deaths, no HYDRA. Nothing. Everything had been going more or less fine, and he had been doing what he’d been doing for the past ten years. And then, one after the other, the world had started crumbling at his feet. First, he’d seen the skies open up and destroy a city, in Puerte Antigue. He’d aimed an arrow at a god’s head and wondered if it was the right decision to make. The world had gone sourer and sourer, when another God had speared him in the heart and taken his brain for his own.

So many hours spent in a bathroom, crying, hiding from his friends, his family, his wife, thinking about all the evil things that he’d done. Wondering how he would ever be able to hold his daughter in his lap and read her a bedtime story. And then, Loki had disappeared, he’d healed, adding another scar to the collections on his body. New York had burst up in flames as an army from outer space had declared war, and he’d fought, side by side with monsters and gods. And he hadn’t broken.

Blinking, he rubs the burn mark at the center of his chest. The world had crumbled - everyone pointing fingers, war brewing everywhere, descending into a madness he couldn’t control. He’d decided to leave it behind, go spend some time with his family, only to wake up to the sound of the news and the sight of the Triskelion destroyed, helicarriers half burning in the waters of the Potomac, his phone pinging every single second at mentions, messages, missed calls and the entire destruction of SHIELD on his conscience.

When Nick Fury had showed up, telling him about what had happened, guilt had made its way to his mind again, reminding him that he would never be able to live one life without the other reminding him that it existed. He could never be the perfect father because it meant giving up SHIELD, and he could never be the perfect SHIELD agent, because it meant giving up being a father. So, he’d gone back, mourned the loss of his work, of his colleagues, of his friends, and tried to move on. Decided to have Nathaniel, decided to try from scratch this time.

And then, everything had decided to go to shit again. Ultron had blasted a hole onto Earth when he took Sokovia for a ride, had taken something of Clint’s soul with him - Pietro’s death had caused so much pain that Clint barely spent a day wondering why it hadn’t been him to die that day. 

Finally safe from the world, from the future that seemed to roll on, steamrolling on and on and on, destroying everything in its wake, Clint’s path had come knocking down his doors, and now he stood, alone and desperate. He had no future with SHIELD, with the Avengers. He had no past, for Barney and Buck were both gone. 

Buck’s gone, he reminds himself, and his fingers turn white as he holds the bathroom sink even harder, hoping it’ll keep him from punching his fist through the mirror in front of him. 

He doesn’t need to break it though. He sees the broken pieces of his soul just fine.

He sees a broken man with a broken will. Nothing left to salvage.

Nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you guys hated me oh so very much after the previous chapter, but how do you hate me now? Do you think you could ever find it in your hearts to love me, after this? Because I don't think I can forgive myself.
> 
> I promise no more people are going to die after this. I pinky promise. There's still one chapter coming, and then two post credits scenes. I hope you guys trust me still when I tell you that the pain is almost finished and that the end credits scenes will make it up to you. I promise!
> 
> Tell me what you thought? What you felt? Tell me which part you liked best and why! Yell at me, you know I love it when you do!


	12. The Prestige - Phase IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's over. Everything is over. There is nothing more to do, except bury those they've lost and move on. Move on to find peace, to find some sort of refuge and to think back on their actions. Maybe go back to the start, to where they came from and see if they can live on from there.   
> It's time for Clint to say goodbye to the ghosts from his past and to move on. Will he be able to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is it. This is the last (big) chapter of SYS, where the story ends. I'm not saying thanks and all that just yet because, as I've teased a lot before, there will still be two more bonus scenes which are here to set up CACW and go deal with some things that still haven't been dealt with (it'll make sense later, I promise).
> 
> SO. There it is! It's not as long as the other chapters, but it's close. I hope you enjoy it, I hope you enjoyed this long ass ride and that you'll still like it in a couple of months. 
> 
> This chapter starts out with a funeral and it goes on for a while, and then they move to a hospital. (Just so you know and are prepared for it).
> 
> HAPPY READINGS, MY LOVES!

It’s not a religious funeral. That much she knows. She’s seen funerals, been to some of them herself.

She remembers the service they held for Phil Coulson and the other fallen agents of SHIELD after New York. Remembers how Clint had barely been able to keep it together as they lowered Phil into the ground, and how she’d had to hold his hand as hard as she could to keep him from running away. He’d never made it to the reception that night, because she knew he’d spent the evening locked up in his hotel room bathroom, getting too drunk to move next morning.

Barney Barton’s and Buck Chisholm’s funeral is a civil thing. None of them were particularly religious, and Natasha doubts that Clint would bury his brother and his mentor in a faith that wasn’t theirs. He knows best, she thinks. He always knows best. She hasn’t seen Clint dressed up like that in years - and she’s honest. The last time was when him and Laura renewed his vows, and he looks as much out of place as she does.

But then… After all, it is the funeral of his brother. Of his mentor, too, which is almost like family. He’s found the old black suit that he wore for Phil’s funeral, and she wonders if Laura made him keep it. For good measure. Looking around her, she notices nobody is smiling. So many people gathered, and she feels like they are intruding on a private moment. 

Had it only been Barney or only been Buck, she’d have understood, but both of them?

The weather outside is cold, below freezing point, so they’ve all gathered inside the small funeral home. Nobody speaks, nobody wants to speak. There’s ushered condolences offered to Clint here and there, and Natasha knows that he feels as bad as he’ll ever feel. All of this? All of this entire masquerade and civil buildup to pretend to feel anything? The only people here that she knows for certain care are herself, Steve, Wanda, Sam and Marcella Carson. 

The daughter of Mister Carson had made it out to Waverly when she’d seen the obituary Clint had sent her. He’d told Natasha that he felt it was the right thing to do, knowing that Buck spent so many years with Carson’s Carnival of Traveling Wonders. She’s a fiery lady, not so young anymore, but respectful. She’s not so much an heir to anything, since her father’s carnival merged with the Circus of Crime and she lost most of her artists in the bargain, but… Well. She still remembers Clint, and she remembers Barney and Buck equally well.

It’s the beginning of February, and the weather feels like it’s keeping quiet for Clint’s sake. No birds chirping, no animals crossing any of the roads. Natasha’s gaze go to Laura, dressed in a beautiful and simple black dress, carrying Nathaniel in her arms. He’s been afraid of all the people coming and going, frightened by the lack of smiles. He can probably sense that his parents are sad or that something is wrong, because he has refused to let go of his mother or father.

She looks at Cooper and Lila, who are looking older than they should, trying to acknowledge them all. Nick Fury made it here, accompanied by Maria Hill and Sharon Carter. Sam, Steve, Wanda made it here. Rhodey had to go solve an issue in Turkey, Europe, which had meant he couldn’t attend. But he’d made sure to pay his respects before he left.

Tony and Pepper came through too, quickly. Natasha hasn’t spoken to either of them in months, and she knows Tony is busier than ever trying to avoid a crisis that all the politicians of the country seem to be secretly feeding, and it’s probably the reason why he hasn’t been able to help out at all. Vision and Thor are nowhere to be seen, probably caught up in the grand scheme of things.

A sudden commotion causes them all to snap to attention, and when the people present start to sit down on a chair here or there, Natasha makes her way to the second row, sitting behind Clint. Laura sits to his left, his children to his right. Nathaniel has moved onto Clint’s lap. The funeral director gets up and walks up next to the two caskets. They’re both closed, Natasha knows. Because Clint wanted them to have this privacy, at least. To not be ogled at by all and everyone, to give them their peace.

The funeral director puts on his glasses and looks at the paper he’s printed out. “We are gathered here today to bid farewell to Charles “Barney” Bernard Barton and to Nicholas “Buck” Kenneth Chisholm.” He pauses, and looks over at the people who have gathered. “Speaking first is Clinton Francis Barton,” the director finishes as he moves away. 

As Clint gets up, settling Nathaniel onto Laura’s lap, Natasha pays attention to the two large candles on wooden pillars on either side of the two caskets. On both of them, a casket spray representing the two deceased make up for the brown color of the caskets. She focuses on Clint as he straightens, his military background kicking into instinct here. Next to her, Wanda is fidgeting. The last funeral Wanda attended was Pietro’s funeral, and so, to help her keep it together, Natasha puts out her hand. Wanda takes it gratefully, before looking back up at Clint whose hands are shaking.

Clint’s hands never shake. She’s seen them shake three, four times tops, and seeing him so lost, so alone breaks Natasha’s heart. 

“I never spoke of my brother if I could avoid it,” he starts, and Natasha feels her heart tighten in her chest. She isn’t ready for this either, she realizes. Wasn’t it just some weeks ago that she helped Barney set up the mask to pretend being Clint? That she found him a stealth suit? That they had a laugh together, as they jokingly sparred?

“But Barney was my older brother. I can’t remember a time where he wasn’t there, or where I couldn’t count on him to have my back. Most of you probably know that my parents died when I was very young, and that I grew up between foster cares and the circus. Barney was always there. He always knew how to make me feel better, or whose teeth to punch out. Whenever I took a beating, Barney went over there to talk them out of it, and came back as bruised and battered as I was. Whenever I got in trouble, Barney would be there to pick me up and help me move on. He was an ass too, and you guys probably noticed that. Always a cocky remark or some smartass move to bring the tension down, but he knew how things worked. Better than I ever will, anyway.” He pauses, and Natasha can see that he’s barely holding it together. His lower lip wobbles every now and then, and whenever he has to breathe in to speak again, it’s almost as if she can hear the sob waiting to come out. Wanda tightens her hold on Natasha’s hand when Clint speaks up again.

“He died protecting me from my past. Most of you were there that day, and you all saw how bravely he fought, in spite of the fact that he wasn’t an Avenger. There’s so much I want to say about him, and so little time. I can’t find the words to express how grateful I am that you all came here today.” He pauses again, as he looks over at the casket his brother lies in. Nathaniel decides that it’s his moment to start crying, and when Clint looks over at Laura, Natasha knows someone has to do something. 

Standing up, she taps Laura on the shoulder and puts out her hands. She quiet conversation happens without any worries, and Laura hands her Nathaniel almost immediately. She walks out of there cooing at the toddler, acknowledging the look Steve gives her. As she walks out, she hears Clint resume speaking.

“Almost none of you here knew Buck even existed until today…”

* * *

Steve watches Natasha go out with Nathaniel in her arms, and he wishes he were the one to go out with a toddler and an excuse. It’s not that he doesn’t respect Clint, but the pain of all this, the triviality of this entire show - it feels wrong. Clint’s started speaking again, speaking of his old master, and as he sits on the foldable metal chair, Steve can’t help but think about what Clint must be going through.

In a way, Steve understands him. He’s lost his entire life too, lost all of his family and all of his friends without having had any say in it. He was frozen in time, literally, and everything moved on without it. But it must feel so different for Clint, who’s witnessed it all fall apart. Waking up and finding everything gone must be so different than standing there and seeing it all go, one after the other. He wonders if that’s how Peggy felt, when SHIELD crumbled. Having lost Howard, Steve, the Commandoes… 

He tunes back in to Clint’s words, who finishes off speaking of Buck in words that Steve thinks are too kind for a person who beat on kids to learn them their trade. As soon as Clint goes back to Laura, and she stands up, it’s the silent signal that nobody else will speak. Besides, who would? Steve stands up, followed by everyone else, as Clint brings Lila and Cooper up to the caskets. Steve doesn’t hear the kids speak, but when they go back to their mother, Natasha coming back with Nathaniel on her arm, he knows it’s the time to help Clint carry his brother out now. 

He buried Nick Fury, not too long ago. He remembers burying Phil Coulson, too. They move out into the graveyard, for the brief graveside ceremony. They walk slowly up to where he knows Clint’s parents are buried, and where two new spots have been dug. Laying down the casket on rails and belts to lower it, Steve can’t help but feel that this is unfair.

Bucky never got a proper funeral. They had no body to bury, no body to celebrate, nothing. He knows that Peggy Carter had Bucky’s name posthumously added to the SHIELD wall of names, in honor of him, just like she had his own name added to it. Standing up again, he looks around and sees Wanda standing to the side, as Laura and Clint stand up. Watching, as the caskets are lowered together. Some of Barney’s former colleagues from the FBI had showed up, in order to give him a goodbye, but hadn’t stayed long enough for this.

Steve watches as Nick Fury leaves, followed by Maria Hill and Sharon Carter. He turns around to leave, followed by Sam whose head hangs low. Barney had been buried with his colonel’s drapings on him, Steve knew, because he’d overheard Laura telling Cooper that it had been that thing they were looking for the day before. He hasn’t been to a military burial since Bucky was put to rest. He missed out on the Howling Commandos who died before he was pulled out of the ice, and most of them are still alive today. The only military funeral he remembers… Bucky’s.

And seeing Clint burying his brother like that stabs Steve in the heart.

* * *

They’ve all agreed to meet back at the farm. The mood there swings a little bit, and Wanda is pretty sure that it’s because Clint still hasn’t come back from the graveyard. Laura and the kids had come back home about twenty minutes before, but Clint still hadn’t made it back. 

Wanda feels out of place. The kids like her very much, and even though Nathaniel is putting on a show, she still feels like there’s something missing. Steve walks up to her. He’s taken off the jacket of his suit, and feels more comfortable already, she can tell. Sam stayed, so it’s just them, Natasha and the Bartons. Nick took off after the funeral, taking his colleagues with him. 

“How are you doing?” Steve asks, and she shrugs. Her shoulders feel heavy, and she leans back against the counter. Laura is trying to make conversation with Sam, and Natasha is correcting Cooper’s pronunciation of the Russian words he’s learned on Duolingo. 

“Like someone’s missing,” she replies, and Steve’s smile betray what she knows he feels as well. Without Clint here, it feels like they’re intruding. She’s carrying a glass of water in a hand, and she hasn’t had any of it. It feels so empty. She looks around the room, trying to look for a conversation theme before it dies, but Steve finds it before she does.

“How’s your flying?” he asks, and she smiles wide.

“It is better. I can hold it for some seconds now,” she says, and his impressed face makes her beam, but it falls as soon as she turns to look at the front door. The footsteps outside it indicate that Clint’s on his way home, and when he pushes the door open and looks at everyone, his face drops. Wanda can see from here that he’s been crying again, there’s no point in hiding it - his eyes are puffy again. He makes a straight line for the stairs and heads up to the bathroom, avoiding any and all gazes as he does so. 

* * *

It’s late. Wanda has gone to bed, as have the kids. Laura, Sam, Nat, Steve and Clint are sitting at the dinner table. Laura’s found wine glasses, and they’ve been having some excellent Californian wine. 

Steve wonders, sometimes, if Laura always knows. Every time he visits, she always finds a bottle of wine with savory tastes, and the scent of them always entrance him. Maybe she knows he can’t get drunk, and that’s why she gives him the best tasting wines so it might be an experience in itself. This wine is excellent, but not nearly as good as the Château Fonréaud she’d served him last time, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her. The quality of the wine doesn’t matter right now given everything that’s happening around them. Even if she means well.

There hasn’t been much talking for the past ten minutes. They’re all looking at their glasses, wondering who should speak next. It’s not that Steve didn’t want to stay, because he really did. It’s when Natasha moves herself slightly forward and catches Sam’s attention that Steve notices the subtle discussion that’s been going on, right under his nose. Both Sam and Natasha rise at the same time, dismissing it as Natasha wanting to show Sam the barn and the training facility Clint has set up in there.

Laura exchanges a glance with Clint, and when he nods, Steve resigns himself. He sighs, refusing to look at the affection being displayed in front of him. Laura strokes Clint’s back, before giving him a fleeting goodnight kiss. She gazes over at Steve who acknowledges her with a nod. “G’night,” he says to her and she smiles.

“Goodnight, Steve,” she replies, before turning her back and heading up the stairs.

It leaves Clint and Steve sitting at the table. Steve hasn’t really been alone with Clint since- well. Since they had that fight. Where Steve pushed Clint around, and Clint stormed out saying that he would not work with him again. It feels like it happened centuries ago, but Steve knows that Clint knows too. He’s been avoiding being alone with him ever since, mostly because he feels the guilt in his gut. 

“I’m sorry-”

“Before you say anything, I want to say that I don’t blame you, Steve.” Clint’s interruption comes unexpectedly, and Steve looks up from the glass of wine he’s been fidgeting with. Clint is looking at him - he’s got that same expression that he always keeps when he’s at peace. Steve hates it. “You couldn’t have known-”

“No, please don’t. Alright? I want to say that I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath, watches Clint blink and leaning forward, resting his upper body weight on his arms, on the table. Clint’s red wine glass is still full, he hasn’t touched it the entire night. “I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry that I thought I knew best. I’m sorry that I fucked everything up,” he lets out, as he feels his chest tighten at the words.

He feels like shit. He still remembers the crack that he’d heard when his fist had collided with Clint’s face, and the way that Clint looks at him like it’s okay? It makes him want to scream. Because it’s not. Clint’s just buried his brother, his mentor, General Ross - the smug bastard himself - has just taken the Circus of Crime into his own ranks, and Clint seems fine with it all. “Why aren’t you mad? You gotta be mad, you have to-”

Clint cuts him by putting his hand out.

Steve stops dead in his sentence and looks at Clint’s face. His eyes are still puffy, and he blinks a little too much - they’re dry because he’s cried so much. He looks more tired than ever, and the remnants of the black eye are still visible. He’s got a bald spot on the side of his head where they stitched him up from a hit to the head at some point during the fight. He looks so old, Steve realizes, and he feels like his entire world is crumbling.

“I am mad. I’ve been mad most of my life for being so shitty- you know that feelin, I guess. That nobody listens to you, that you’re not good enough, that you won’t even be strong enough to make a difference. But, I learnt to canalize that anger and that rage into something bigger. I mean, I just lost my brother, man. What do you want me to do about it? I can’t put my fist through a mirror or burn the house down, I got kids. I can’t- I can’t just let it all overwhelm me.” He pauses, and Steve doesn’t know what to say or do, so he just picks up the glass of red wine and takes a sip.

It feels dry against the back of his throat, but it helps. Then, Clint starts speaking again. “I did that. The whole ‘not being there mentally even though I’m there physically’ thing.” Clint looks away, as if he doesn’t want to remember it. “After Loki.” He puts his finger on the base of the wine glass, but moves it away when he speaks again. “I know you were busy with SHIELD and running off saving the world with Nat, so you probably didn’t even think of it.” He looks over to the side, to the stairs, to Laura. “It took all of their efforts to bring me back to the rational world.” He smiles, softly, as if remembering something nice. “Laura, Nat. I mean, even Peggy helped me pull through,” he adds, and gazes back at Steve.

Steve just looks at him. He still remembers learning that Peggy and Nick had personally vouched for Clint, when they brought him in. Young, restless. Dangerous to both himself and them. Not exactly the man sitting in front of him today. “I never want to go back to being that person,” Clint finally says, and Steve sees that his eyes have veiled. “Trust me when I tell you that if it hadn’t been for Laura getting pregnant again, I don’t know if I’d have snapped out of it.”

Clint smiles apologetically, before looking at the untouched glass of wine. He pushes it to the side and rubs his forehead, his hand shaking. “I can’t let that happen again,” he finishes, and looks at Steve, with that same glint in his eyes that he always has. It’s the glint that everything’s going to be alright - somehow, Clint always seems to know when things will turn out alright. Even if he’s just put two members of his family in the ground, Clint still remains one of the grounded figures in Steve’s life, and he wonders.

Would he really have been able to navigate SHIELD without Clint’s guidance? He knows that Clint is ten years his elder, but not only that. Clint’s seen so much shit, been through so much shit, that he knows. Steve’s been through shit too. World War Two? That was a shit storm of its own. Losing Bucky? That was it too. It ripped through his heart like a bullet, and when he went down in the ice, putting the Valkyrie down somewhere above Greenland? He’d hoped that he would die.

He’d hoped it so much, and yet, when he’d woken in that room - he knew. That this wasn’t supposed to be his time, and since then, he hadn’t stopped. Much like Clint can’t stop now. The way that Clint broke down after New York? After Loki? That’s something that Steve can never afford to do. The card house would crumble and burn and disappear if he did. And, even though it’s so much weight on his shoulders, he knows he can take it. Because, if Clint, if Natasha, if Wanda, if all these tormented friends can do it? Then so can he. 

Besides. He has to find Bucky again.

“We should go to bed,” Clint finally says, breaking Steve’s thoughts. “Otherwise, you’re waking up with four hours’ sleep on your conscience to three screaming kids who want to play and are fully rested out, and trust me when I say this: not even the super-serum in your veins can save you from the expectant eyes of my kids,” he jokes, before pushing himself up.

Steve watches him go, before looking at the glass of wine Clint left on the table. He didn’t put it out in the kitchen, like they all did. He could have, but he didn’t. He walked over to the stairs, went up there, saying goodnight with a wave. Thinking about it, Steve hasn’t seen Clint drink in a very long time. Maybe that’s it. 

As he sits in the darkened living room, the noises of the house accompanying him in his thoughts, he wonders. How did the place look? Which corners did Clint hide in when he was trying to get out of his father’s reach? Everything in here looks like it’s been redone within the last 20 years, and he wonders. If he peels off the wallpaper, what will he find? The thought makes him shudder, and he gets up, picking up the two wine glasses and walking to the sink. There’s so much around it - dirty dishes, glasses, half eaten cakes or lasagna.

Steve looks up at the clock. It’s only one in the morning, and Sam and Natasha are still out in the barn. 

So, he pulls up his sleeves and starts working. As he pours Clint’s red wine into the sink, he can’t stop thinking that it looks like blood. Thick, red, cold blood, pouring down into the sink, and for half a second, he almost feels the air go out of his lungs, almost feels like a ghost brushed past him. Gazing down at his arm, he sees his hairs standing up, a cold gush of wind moving through the kitchen. Not that he’s superstitious, because ghosts don’t exist, but maybe… 

No. He nods to himself, and opens the faucet, waiting until the water gets hot enough for him to start cleaning. He knows they have a dishwasher, but there’s so much stuff- it’ll be too much work and too much time spent trying to get it all to fit. He might as well do this. It’s the least he can do. It’s the least he can do to repay this, to try and wash away the anger and the frustration of the past couple of months. 

* * *

It’s quiet in the car. 

They left in the early hours of the morning. It had been so early that none of the kids has been up at the time, and that had meant that had been plenty of quiet. Natasha can’t help but look over her shoulder, at the backseat. She’s sitting in the passenger’s side of the Ford they’ve rented in under Clint’s cover name, Steve is driving. Sam is sitting in the back, reading a book that he’s found might help him down at the VA. 

And Clint? He’s sitting with his head against the window, leaving oily marks on it as his forehead bounces on and off it, every time there’s a bump on the road or Steve takes a turn. He looks exhausted - they all do. 

Sam hasn’t slept properly in weeks, going around the country and fighting an enemy bigger than himself tireing him. He’s used to missions, yes, but not this kind of mission. This one has bigger stakes.

Steve looks so tired he might actually fall asleep behind the wheel - she knows he spent the night up. He was still in the kitchen when she came down, that next morning, having cleaned the kitchen and the living room from all traces that there had been guests there. She knows that he hadn’t been able to close his eyes, because it had been too close to the burial he’d held for Bucky. Flashbacks and déjà-vu were never good. 

She slept. More or less. She still has recurrent nightmares, woken from a deep wound in her chest by Wanda, when she’d messed with her head, back in Johannesburg. She’s wondered, if this was what Clint had felt like, after Loki? Getting his mind stuffed with something else? Wondering what’s real and what’s not? She’d gone through it all once before, but it had been voluntarily. She’d wanted it, at the time. But not here. Not now.

Clint looks old and tired. He’s got a worn look on his face, even when he sleeps, and she wonders how much longer he’ll be able to help with the New Avengers. She knows that Bruce and Tony are a bit older than him, and they’re still going strong, but there’s the major difference that Bruce isn’t himself or in his own body when he’s the Hulk, and Tony, even though he does major weight lifting with the suit, almost always manages to save his ass with minor injuries. (Besides, Tony’s vigilante career had started almost 20 years after Clint’s, so they had not had the same body to begin with).

She’d resigned herself to the idea that his half-retirement after Ultron would turn into a full-time retirement. It sort of had. Looking into the mirror and at Clint’s sleeping face again, she wonders how the hell she ever expected him to go on for so long?

* * *

Steve drops Sam off at the VA’s office as they get into New York, and Clint wakes up, groggy and tired. His eyes are still puffy - and Natasha felt her core tremble every time she saw him like that. But, Steve dropped her off at her home, forcing her to leave them. 

She’d wanted to come, of course. Go see Peggy - because who didn’t? But, the former Director of SHIELD couldn’t really take it when there were more than two visitors in her room, now. She was so frail now, so small. Natasha still remembers the times where she’d seen the Great Peggy Carter, right after Clint had taken her in. Peggy had been there, still, consulting with Nick and Pierce on things. But then, after a while, her crystal clear head had fallen to pieces, one day at a time, at such a rate that the doctors hadn’t been able to pinpoint why it had happened so suddenly.

* * *

Clint’s mind is quiet. Steve can tell so because of the fact that Clint has his hands in the front pockets of his pants. That’s a thing that only happens when Clint is numb, Steve’s learnt. He’s observant enough to know that something here is wrong, and that his teammate and friend is still mourning. It doesn’t make it any less easier. 

(Clint is wearing all black. It’s not so much a clothing choice that shouts mourning, because they’re all slightly different shades and it’s still a casual style, but Steve knows.) 

Peggy’s cough snaps his attention back to her immediately, and he reaches for the glass of water by her bedside. Clint looks up too, his forehead crinkled in worry. Steve knows that Clint has seen her decline - that he’s seen her go from proud and strong and fierce to sicklish and bedridden. He’d talked to him about it. Knows that Clint had been there the last days, where Pierce had finally pushed her off the board and into a medical facility that would take care of her. Sharon had been there too, flanked by all the higher ranking SHIELD officers to see her go, on her last day.

“Steve!” Peggy says, as he hands her the water, and he smiles. A sad and deep smile, because when they’d entered the room, it had been the exact same scene as every time. There was only a slight variation, whenever he came to visit. Her mind couldn’t remember anymore, but it seemed like she knew that too, because his explanations and all the stories about how he came back seemed to be quicker and quicker to accept. 

Her eyes drift to Clint, who is smiling at her. It’s the first time that Clint was there when Peggy met Steve again, introducing himself and promising her that yes, he came back, and that he owed her a dance. He knows Clint goes through the same thing every time he comes to visit. “Clint!” she says, and her eyes widen. Her hand shakes as Steve takes the glass from her, and her hand goes to her chest. 

“Weren’t you just a young man yesterday?” she asks, looking at Clint whose face has lit up a little bit. Steve looks over his shoulder, sees Clint move closer and finally stand next to her. 

He nods to her. “I was, but time just flew right past us both.” He looks over at Steve, who smiles back. It’s different than talking to a child, but everything has to be so precise, so clear - it hurts him. Peggy, so full of wit and charm and smiling… Reduced to this? He feels so sorry for her and angry. Angry because he wished he’d been there to help her, to understand what they’d done to her. Instead, it had been Clint.

“Steve, do you know Clint?” she asks, and he nods.

“I do, he’s saved the lives of my team several times,” he replies.

“He was such a handsome boy,” she teases, looking back at Clint before going on. “Such a handsome boy. Should have seen him, the first months he was with us. So arrogant, selfish and angry. I’ve never seen someone as angry as him since you,” she adds, turning her head to look at Steve. “I guess that’s why I liked him so much.” 

The three of them laugh slightly, as Clint rubs his nose, before speaking. “Pegs was the one to give me the most shit in the beginning. Fury and May took me in, but it was Peggy who pushed me to my limits.” 

"I can imagine,” Steve chimes in, as Clint walks over to pull a visitor’s chair over and sits down on it. He puts his elbows on his knees, and rests his chin on his hands. 

“Did he ever tell you he spent an entire month in isolation?”

Steve raises his eyebrow and looks back at Clint who just shrugs, with the verge of a shy smile on his lips. “That true?”

“Hell yeah,” he responds. “I spent a month in isolation trying to convince myself that it was all a stupid trap and hoping that if I kept being an ass to them, they’d find out that I was worthless and let me go.” He looks back at Peggy and for half a second, Steve feels jealous.

Jealous that Clint got to spend so much time with Peggy, that he got to go on missions with her and that he got to be a colleague and a friend when he couldn’t. But he doesn’t say anything. Not right now, anyway. It’s not the time, nor the place.

“So, what made you change your mind?” Steve asks, and Peggy goes for Clint’s hand.

She answers in Clint’s place. “He finally understood that we only wanted to help him,” she says, and Clint blinks once, twice, before Peggy speaks again. “That and a man from the FBI came and claimed that he needed to talk with him and knock some sense into him. That was Barney, his older brother. He had a foul mouth and was as hot tempered as Clint, but he was a professional.” She turns her head from Steve to Clint and smiles. “How is Barney?” she asks, and Steve watches as Clint’s face goes white.

“I haven’t heard from him in a while,” Clint finally replies, as he exchanges a glance with Steve. It’s the same look Steve has seen on other faces - the same one that asks not to tell. Please, don’t tell her. She doesn’t need to know.

He nods, just a little bit, before Peggy goes on, not having noticed the wordless conversation that just happened. “After Hank left and Howard died, Nick and I tried to build a better SHIELD, a newer one. Clint helped forge that when he showed the recruits from the academy that a resume and a good name wasn’t going to get you anywhere,” she replies, and Clint looks away, seemingly blushing. “He was such a young thing,” she goes on, “so restless. I’m glad to see that he turned into a good man.”

“Well, I’m glad to have this man on my team,” Steve states, as he looks over at Clint. If there’s a moment to make peace and accept that what Clint did - Ronin, lying to them and the others, stabbing him and the others, it was now. For there was a good reason for it, Steve knows now. There always was.

Clint’s the one that he knows he can trust. Watching the way Peggy looks at and speaks of Clint makes him regret ever doubting the archer. Barney had told him too: Clint will be the one left standing when they’ve all found other things to make because he knows what’s right and what’s wrong, and will do what he believes is the right thing regardless of the consequences. 

He lets Clint lead the conversation for a while, but soon, they both realize that Peggy needs some rest. When they leave, Steve wonders why Clint didn’t want to tell Peggy that Barney had died. Did she know Barney too? Was she a friend of his, as well? Wouldn’t Clint have wanted Peggy to know, if that had been the case?

But maybe, it was just a way to spare her the pain. Steve had told her about Bucky, about the Winter Soldier. And, it had almost broken her that day - the pain in her eyes as she had realized what HYDRA had done to her, to Bucky and to SHIELD? It had felt like she’d died herself.

* * *

“Hey, Coop, can you get your brother ready for bed?”

Laura’s voice carries onto the living room, where Cooper is sitting playing on his game boy. It’s not one of the newer ones, but he hasn’t asked for an upgrade yet - probably because he’s playing those Pokemon games that they’re crazy about in school still. “Why?”

Laura’s eyes roll as far back as they can, before she replies, as she pours the coffee into the metallic thermos on the kitchen table. “I’m going to get dad.” 

The music from the toy stops when he turns it off, and she watches him through the door go pick up Nathaniel who is chewing on some of the bigger duplo bricks that they’ve found for him. He’s still too small for actual lego, but they’d found some of Laura’s old toys in the barn, and the Duplo bricks could never go out of fashion for kids. 

“Tell Lila to get ready too,” she calls, and Cooper hums, as he carries his brother up the stairs.

Laura screws the lid onto the thermos and walks over to the front door. Kicking off her slippers, she forces her feet down into the boots, pulling them over her heel, and putting on the jacket that’s still wet from when she went out to turn off the lights in the barn. 

She’d cleared Clint’s bows away - he’d practiced with his compounds. They had the highest draw weight he had, and as she put it away, she’d briefly thought about trying it. Then, she hadn’t. Because, as she had looked at the weapon, she’d noticed that one of the usually padlocked lockers was open, the padlock hanging open on it, and gone to investigate.

She wasn’t being nosy - she knew that Clint had things to hide from her, but she knew that some things she was allowed to know too. It had been why he’d told her about Ronin to begin with, when he’d come up with this plan to con them all and try and get the circus of crime behind bars his own way. 

She’d found the black velvet suit that he’d worn too much these past few weeks. The yellow silk had been washed, thoroughly, but she could still see the spots where blood had soaked it. She’d wondered if it had been Clint’s or Barney’s blood, or both. She’d folded the suit back together, applying it gently into the bag, pushing the swords to the back of the locker. Closing the metallic door, gently, as you would when saying goodbye to an old friend, she’d pushed the padlock shut again, the click of it letting her know that it was shut. Clint knew the combination, but she didn’t. 

She pushes the front door open, and zips the jacket closed all the way up to her mouth. It’s still cold outside, and the darkness creeping around her should make her feel uneasy, but it doesn’t. She presses the unlock button of the four wheel drive before remembering that the battery of it died, and goes to unlock it manually, holding the thermos under her arm.

The door clicks open, and she climbs into it. Clint had gone, on foot, to his family’s grave. To say goodbye. On his own terms.

The drive is quiet, and she looks over at the thermos on the passenger’s side several times, before pulling up into the parking lot. Climbing out of the car, grabbing the bottle, her feet crunching against the gravel, she wonders. How Clint’s still standing - she was sick, Nathaniel was teething, Cooper and Lila were constantly annoyed and mad, he had Jacques and Maynard running around threatening, had to lie to Natasha, Steve and all the others, while still looking after Buck. 

She loved him, oh so much, but sometimes she wondered if his dedication to his work would ever be the end of him. It had come so close, so many times before.

He looks over his shoulder when she hears him come, and smiles at her. As she leans forward to kiss him, she hands him the thermos and sits down on the ground next to him. Barney’s and Buck’s graves look a little less colorful, the flowers having fainted, petals on the ground, the green leaves looking dead and boring.

“Ronin can rest in peace now,” Clint finally lets out, as he pours some of the coffee into the lid of the thermos. He hands it to her before taking a sip, but when she shakes his head, he takes the cup to his lips. 

She knows that he’s lying. He told her that he’d handed the two suits back to Maya when he’d gone to meet her in Hell’s Kitchen, but she’d folded his suit neatly not two hours ago. But she gives him this. She knows that as much as he is Hawkeye, the Avenger, he is also Ronin. He never spoke of Ronin when he didn’t need to, but she always knew. It had been a part of his life, in the beginnings of his SHIELD adventure, when he still needed to do things unnoticed by his handlers. It had almost driven Coulson and May mad, but he’d let go of the Ronin suit eventually.

She puts her head on his shoulder, leaning against him. He’s warm, even though he’s been sitting here for a while. He moves his arm out of the way, and cradles her against him. She turns her head, to look up at him and sees him gazing straight ahead. “It’s over now,” she whispers into his neck, and he hums, closing his eyes, putting his lips on her hair. 

She hears him inhale her scent, hears his heartbeat, and remembers that this is the man she fell in love with, all those years ago. He was the one who had taken her mind, her body and her soul - taken it all, and she’d taken everything right back from him, and more. 

He rubs her arm, in the cold of the night, the scent of coffee in the air and the taste of his neck on her lips. She wonders then, how things would have gone if Clint hadn’t decided to take matters into his own hands. Would they have succeeded in killing him?

Or was this great masquerade worth it all? Worth all the pain, all the loss, all the bloodshed?

Maybe it was, she thinks.

Maybe it was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So?
> 
> How did you like it?
> 
> Tell me. Did you like the story? Did you? This is the end of it. There's still two small bonuses coming, but as I've said... This is the end of Ronin and of Clint's shenanigans. Next we see him in is going to be CACW, and I'm not in the least prepared for that. Are you?
> 
> Leave a comment, a scream or a cry, and let me know how you liked this! Please!


	13. Mid Credits Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bonus to the story, because it has to lead into CACW, right?

The papers in front of him don’t make any sort of sense. There are the files that Natasha called in from Kiev on subject 17, and he's had them translated - although he could understand most of it himself. But there are even more files piling up on his desk, and he isn't sure that he'll be able to make any sort of sense out of it.

There's the file on Maria and Howard Stark’s car accident in 1991. Tony was only a late teenager at the time, and he'd always claimed that it was just that,  an accident. Because he couldn't prove otherwise,  Steve knows. But there’s evidence lining up - or the lack thereof anyway. In the light of recent events and the confession of Zola, basically telling Steve and Natasha, in the basement of the training camp, that HYDRA had been responsible for the accident.

There were pictures of the Kennedy assassination too, unmarked and unedited. Footage that was recovered from tourists on location in Texas the very day the former president was shot to death.  

There's a file,  from 1995, from Teheran,  too. Clint had been there, one of his first solo missions, bringing down a drug cartel that had been operating from there. There had been an explosion which had killed children, and the conflicting reports clashed with Clint’s own assessment of the facts. There had been another asset there that day, Clint had been adamant.

There’s Iran, too. Where Natasha got her scar, got shot. There’s a picture of the Soviet slug that went right through her, next to the one that went right through Fury. The same make. The same steel cartridge, left behind, on every scene.

With a sigh, Steve puts his hands on his eyes and blocks out the light. The neon lights are giving him a headache, but this late into the night, it’s the only way for him to see clearly on the files that have been laid out before him. He finally lets go of his face and grabs his phone. There's a new unread message on it, unknown number.  He isn’t sure when it came, because he hadn’t heard it arrive. Looking at the timestamp, it's about fifteen minutes old.

He unlocks the phone and reads it.

“ _Come to the basement. There's something you need to see._ ”

That's all it says. Nothing more, nothing less, and looking up and around him, he doesn't feel particularly enclined to do as he's been told. But, there's no harm,  right? They're at the facility, and he might as well go down and see what this unknown number might be onto. Might be Natasha or Clint messing with him, although he doubts it.

Making his way down, he goes through the quiet corridors or the facility. Nobody’s there, they're all sleeping or in their common rooms. He swipes his access card on the monitor next to the metallic door leading down to the basement, and when the door slides open he hesitates. It's not that he flinched, but the hairs on his arms have risen -  it's not particularly because of the cold. There's something eery, and he doesn't like it one bit. Not at all. But, he takes the steps, one by one, cautious. Down there, there's but a simple red light in the corner, and it doesn't light up the room enough for him to assess who is down there with him. So he asks. “Who's there?”

A silhouette moves, he sees it out of the corner of his eyes, but then the lights turn on. Momentarily blinded, he doesn't realize what's in front of him until his eyes have adjusted to the sudden light and his entire breath leaves him. His heart skips a beat. Everything around him stops.

“Bucky?”

He’s linked to heavy machinery, the arm stuck in between what seems to be a press of some kind. He's wearing a ragged red shirt, looks like he's been through hell. Then, the sound of footsteps behind him remind him that there's another person yet.

He doesn't think before his fist flies back, but a familiar hand catches it before it connects with his face, and he can't help but frown. This should be impossible.

“Barney?”

“Aye, Cap,” Barney’s gritty voice replies, as he lets go of Steve’s hand.

“But- you-”

“Yes, I died. But you should really learn to never trust deaths when there's a SHIELD agent involved,” Barney interrupts, as he motions around. “Fury pulled the same trick on you, not too long ago. That tetrodotoxine B is really effective.”

“But the snakes, the autopsy- there was venom, you died, Barney?” Steve’s eyes go back to Bucky and he still can’t fathom what the hell is going on.

Barney notices, and walks up to the other end of the room, stands next to the Winter Soldier. “Zelda’s snakes were circus snakes and performing snakes, their venomous glands were pulled out many years ago. They're about as dangerous as a toddler,” he starts, before grinning to himself, “well, the most dangerous one is the anaconda, that one’ll strangle you to death regardless of having fangs or not to help it on its way.”

“How- why- but Bucky?”

“Well, it takes a dead man to find a ghost.”

Steve doesn't register the words before they hit him, and his gaze focuses on Bucky again, who seems as dazed and confused as he does. “How did you find him?”

Barney’s eyebrow rises, as he arches his neck back, cracking the cervicals in the same motion. “I’m hurt that you're not asking about the funeral. But then again, losing good old Chisholm wasn't a part of the plan,” he says, and Steve shakes his head. He goes on before Steve manages to get a sound out of his mouth again. “Dying allowed me to go back and retrace the steps that we caught up on in Canada. Turns out, General Ross has got dirty hands too, or will, if he had gotten his way with your friend here. I found him in shit town Arkansas, both running and fighting.”

He leaves out the details. It’s only now that Steve notices that there's the shadow of a cut on Barney’s cheek. “He's in your hands now,” Barney says, “it's a sort of thanks for helping protect my baby brother from the Circus of Crime.”

Still stunned, Steve doesn't register the fact that Barney's putting on a coat before he's on his way back up the stairs. “Hey, wait!” he calls, but doesn't move, unwilling to let his eyes off Bucky in case it all turns out to be a hologram or a dream.

“Yeah?”

“What are you going to do now?”

Barney motions to Bucky. “I don't know, maybe go spend some time with my family. Mourn Buck, too. Help get Zelda back out of Ross’ dirty hands,” he shrugs, before smiling. “There's a storm coming, Steve. And you better get ready for it, because those accords they've been speaking about for the past months? They're going to bring hell down on all of us.”

And with that, he’s gone. Steve looks at Bucky again. He looks so ragged, so tired, so torn. Like he's both struggling and not to get free from the machinery holding him down, when other footsteps echo in the staircase. “Forgot to say something?” Steve asks, but it's not Barney's voice that replies.

“Steve!”

It's Sam.

And for a second, Steve doesn't know if he needs to cover for Barney or not. But in that same second, it doesn't matter. Because they've finally found the person they were looking for.

“Buck. Do you remember me?”

_“Your mom's name was Sarah…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, here we are. And, I bet you all hate me very much.  
> My favorite line in this little thing is 'Well, it takes a dead man to find a ghost' and you can bet your ass that it's been on my rough draft for WEEKS.
> 
> Also, if you go back and read Clint's parts after Barney 'dies' you'll find that if Clint is alone, or with Laura, or with someone else who knows, then he never mourns Barney. Always Buck. (Or at least, I tried making it that way).
> 
> So. How did you like it?  
> Was it angsty enough?  
> Are you ready for the last post credits scene? It's not going to be angst and it will bring a smile to your faces, I can promise that 100%.


	14. Post Credits Scene

“So, who is that?” Wanda asks, as she nods to the young woman playing in the upcoming grass with Lila and Nathaniel.

Turning his head away from the railing he’s giving a third coat of paint, Clint frowns as he realizes who she’s talking about. Wanda had made it out to the farm after Steve had found the Winter Soldier. The man was broken - the pain oozed out of him like an infected wound, and her mind couldn’t hold it. It felt like a sensitive overload just being in the same room as him, and she’d asked if she could go stay at Clint’s home for a few days.

She’d made it there during the night, Clint having stayed up to greet her. In the morning, when she’d made it down from her room later than everyone else, she’d noticed an extra bowl in the sink next to Nathaniel’s, and she felt another presence. 

Clint smiles as he turns his head back to watch what he’s doing. “That’s Laura’s sister,” he replies, as he dips the tip of the paintbrush into a former marmalade glass filled with white paint. 

When he doesn’t say more, Wanda leans slightly forward, resting her upper body on her folded arms. “Does that sister have a name?”

She hasn’t peeked into anyone’s head. Nathaniel’s scream breaks any reply that Clint had started up on, as he looks up as if someone had just hit his son. When he sees him lying down on the muddy mixture between spring grass and winter snow, holding his sides and his scream turning into a laugh, he lets out a sigh. Wanda felt the spike in worry as soon as Nathaniel started screaming, and she hadn’t been able to stop herself from smiling.

Knowing that Clint had a family made so much sense to her. So, as she watches him get up, putting the brush and paint out of Nathaniel’s reach, and go out to pick up his son and gently throw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, she can’t help but think back to her own father. 

She hears Clint joke with his son, as Lila reaches up to get the same treatment as Nathaniel. Watches him as she puts the latter one down and pulls Lila up. In her mind, she feels the sudden pain flaring through Clint’s shoulder and she remembers that his injuries still haven’t healed. He’s no super soldier. It’s been weeks, but he hasn’t been doing the exercises he needed to do, that much she knows. She watches as he seemingly effortlessly raises Lila from the ground and throw her over his shoulder as she cries out a delightful shriek.

The young woman, hair as black as coal and an amused smirk on her face takes Nathaniel’s extended hand, directing him back to the porch. He’s filthy - dirt is covering him and Wanda’s ready to bet that there’s dirt in his diaper, but she doesn’t say anything. Clint catches up with them, and bends forward to set Lila down onto the steps of the porch. 

“Thank you daddy,” she says before turning around, smiling at Wanda and pushing off her shoes before going inside. 

Nathaniel takes the steps one at a time and when she looks over at Wanda, Clint bends forward to pick up Nathaniel and pushes the young woman towards Wanda.

“Wanda, this right here is Laura’s little sister, Katie Kate,” he tells with a nod, before making it back inside, Nathaniel on his right arm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.
> 
> This is it. This is the end of this incredible adventure, and I honestly don't know what else to say or do now. I've never ever written that much in so little time, and not in one same fic. I always got discouraged or lost inspiration, but somehow, SYS has managed to keep on going strong and I think that most of it has to do with your feedback, your comments and your continued support.
> 
> Looking back at this fic, I can't even say how much it's meant to me - writing something this long was a challenge to start with, since it had to be 50k for NaNo, but look at it now? Over 113k, and that's written in less than four months. I honestly do not know how that happened.
> 
> I've come to love the characters I've written so much with - Wanda most of all, precious Wanda, but also Sam and Rhodey. Lets not forget Barney either, because I feel like this fic has allowed Barney to shine a real proper way and introduce him to people who weren't too familiar with him.
> 
> This feels like a happy ending, and I couldn't ever dream of letting this universe go. Maybe there might pop up some deleted scenes in the not so far future, but I can't promise anything as finishing this has been on my to do list and it's opened up so many other opportunities now - new fics, new gifs, new stories to tell and read and write.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, for being there and for yelling at me - you've been so incredible. Thank you.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Christine.  
> (@spectralarchers on tumblr).


End file.
